


Cradle of the Final Witch

by DWaM



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: Alternate Timelines, F/M, Gen, Investigations, M/M, Mind Games, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Private Investigators, Time Loop, Timelines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29984403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DWaM/pseuds/DWaM
Summary: The year is 1986. A horrific tragedy takes place on the island on Rokkenjima. The culprit is never captured.The year is 1998. An elusive private detective, Virgilius, is tasked with interviewing the survivors of the incident.The year is 2011. Virgilius' assistant finds him dead in his office.It is a fragment well-known in the world of witches, yet one rarely discussed. Its importance is well-known, yet looked at with fear and delight alike. It is a story ruled by destiny, yet constantly smeared by ever-changing desires.The past. The present. The future. And the horrific truth that ties them all may lie far beyond the comprehension of the human world.The old rules won't help you here.Welcome to Rokkenjima. Welcome to the end.Contains full series spoilers.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 

The Endless Witch is not endless. To believe otherwise is to fall for the only real trick she had to offer. Of course, she can curse you to repeat the same two days for thousands and thousands of years – perhaps forever – but that, in itself, does not give her mastery of infinity.

To CALL yourself “endless,” you must first ensure that time itself has no end. Walk to the very ends of it, and, at the very edge, find that you can never jump off it. Time simply creates more of itself.

To truly BE “endless,” you must also prove that time has no beginning. After all, in your long journey to get to the end, you may decide to turn around at one point. When you do, you’ve chosen a new direction for time. Follow it long enough, and you would eventually reach the beginning. And you would not be endless. Therefore, time must have no beginning.

The final step, now that you’ve learned to walk alongside the great big river of the universe, is to come to a realization.

Walking forwards and backwards in search of your own worth and power – you’ve gotten yourself lost.

Nobody can be a master over infinity. We can either surrender to it, or be lost to it.

Rejoice.

You are lost.

You are endless.

And now you can see.

Look.

No! No, not into the stream. Look over to the horizon.

Look!

There’s another stream.

And another you…

***

A ripple has been made on this spot. Do you see it?

_Look._

It is October 5th, 1986.

A storm has covered the island of Rokkenjima.

We are greeted to the sight of an angry and scornful family gathered in the parlor of their grand mansion. Their eyes focused on the person responsible for an unimaginable tragedy – Ushiromiya Natsuhi. She cries, she begs, she shouts, but none believe her story. Why should they? Why should they listen to the pleas of such a pitiful woman?

She has, after all, murdered five people in their sleep. Her husband is missing, likely killed after he found out about her tryst with Ushiromiya Kinzo, the family head. His obsession had become hers, and she gave into his insane desire of bringing back a Witch through pagan sacrifices.

They should have realized it sooner. If they had simply considered everyone’s alibis for the night before, she may have been caught. And her newest victim, Ushiromiya Hideyoshi, might have been spared...

Listen. She still denies it. Now she’s rambling about some man who threatened her. Some child from nineteen years ago. She almost sounds like she believes it.

But her words mean little to the survivors – when they consider that Ushiromiya Kinzo had stolen the bodies after the fact, and is now no doubt desecrating them in some other unholy ritual. And every word of denial just prolongs the old man’s madness.

Rain taps on the windows indifferently.

_Look._

It is November 12th, 1998.

We are off in the corner, watching an old Doctor Nanjo Terumasa recounting those same events of 1986 to the man sitting across him. Nanjo doesn’t exactly trust the man, but he’s come under the orders of Ushiromiya Ange. In spite of the tragedy, and in spite of the part he believes his old friend Kinzo had played in it, he is still loyal to the family itself. A request from Ange – a request from the current family head’s sister – is not something he could refuse.

It’s harmless enough. He’s told the story a thousand times before by this point. All he needs to do is make no mention of the witch. As had been agreed to by all the others.

That’s easy enough.

Even so, he simply does not like this man.

He has introduced himself as a detective, yet he appears to take no notes. In fact, he seems barely interested in what the old man is telling him. He never nods, he never asks a follow-up question, he barely even blinks – absolutely not a single sign of recognition. It’s as if he’s sleeping with his eyes open.

But his appearance is, no doubt, the most unusual. The old doctor has come to expect an eccentric wardrobe from an Ushiromiya. But this man is an outsider, and he’s surpassing even them. A ‘fashionable disaster’, some would likely call it.

Doctor Nanjo, however, would simply and confidently call it a ‘disaster’, and with not a single modern bone left in his body. ‘Even if I do have one’, he thinks, ‘there’s simply no way people these days dress like this.’ Who on Earth still wears leg warmers? Pink ones at that?

The most eye-catching, however, is the detective’s hair color. A shade of deep blue. Cut short, just barely covering his ears.

It’s no surprise that such an odd man has a perfectly odd name to go along with him.

Virgilius.

_Look._

It is March 18th, 2011.

We are peering in through the window of a dimly-lit apartment. You can just barely make out the silhouette of Shiratori Eiji, standing in the center of the living room, staring at the scene before him. He has just come back from an errand. He’s still holding a bag of fresh coffee beans.

Fukui Ryo’s ‘It Could Happen to You’ is running on the record player in the corner of the room. But the melody isn’t reaching Eiji’s ear.

There is only the empty ringing. It still doesn’t feel real. Any moment now, he thinks reality will warp and release him from the nightmare he’d stumbled into. He gives it a moment.

Then another.

And another.

And when it still hasn’t changed, he decides to finally meet the wide-open eyes of the corpse at his feet. It’s not the first corpse he’s seen. Working as a detective’s assistant for over a decade has trained him to come to terms with it. And really, it’s not the gaping hole in the man’s chest, or the blood, or the smell that’s making him dizzy.

It’s where he’s standing.

It’s this deep blue hair, which he has never seen unkempt in all this time, now dipped in red and carelessly pressed against the carpet.

It’s who these blue eyes belong to.

It’s his boss – his friend – his… something.

It’s Virgilius.

Virgilius has been shot in his own office.

And Eiji was too late to stop it.

How? Why?

He was only gone for fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes for the stupid beans…

_Look._

Look real close.

The past. The present. The future.

Can you make out your own reflection?

No?

Just wait.

Let it settle.

It always does, sooner or later.

_Look._


	2. The Abandoned Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

_PAST / 1986_

Natsuhi’s eyes scan the room for who knows what time. If she could think of anything else, she’d notice how odd it is to have so many people staring at you, yet none meeting your gaze. But she can’t think of anything else. There’s only the tightness in her chest. And the thoughts of the man from nineteen years ago.

In spite of all the noise, her lips still move, almost automatically.

“…You knew that the one you should have called your mother pushed you off a cliff,” she says, “and you must have lived a very hate-filled life. And now…” The tears won’t stop flowing. “And now… you’ve taken everything I’ve gained since pushing you off that cliff…” she sniffs, “eighteen years of my life… and smashed it all to pieces…”

Her voice cracks. “I no longer have my beloved husband and daughter. And I’ve lost even my honor… and am being called a murderer…” Her fist squeezes even tighter. The nails dig into her skin. She feels blood. “No, I… really am a murderer, aren’t I? Yes, that’s right. It all went according to your plans.”

Even Eva’s given up on trying to make demands at this point. There’s nothing left for her to say. The murderess has clearly surrendered to her own delusions. Or some last attempt at painting a boogeyman. She claims she’s lost her family? What about Eva? She’s lost her husband. She’s lost her son.

In spite of all the crying, Natsuhi’s words, Eva feels, are empty

“I’m now regarded as a killer…” Empty as she sounds to some, none interrupt the shattered woman. “How’s that? Is this enough… for your revenge…? My husband and daughter have been killed! I’ve been made to look like a murderer… like an adulteress even… After seeing me living in disgrace like this… Are you satisfied?! Yes, I’ll bet you’re quite satisfied. Because my family… my honor… everything… has been stolen from me…”

The woman’s wails overtake the entire room.

Until, finally—

“After all this…” a voice speaks, “you’re still saying you were framed?”

The owner of the voice… is Ushiromiya Battler.

The man who had solved Ushiromiya Kinzo’s epitaph and acquired the title of family head just the night before. The heavy ring is hidden, along with the rest of his hand, in his pocket. The others can’t see his face. He merely stares out the window.

Natsuhi rises to her feet. “Can you hear me?! You, the cursed child from nineteen years ago?! Are you satisfied now?! You’ve stolen everything form me now! What else could you want?!” But her strength leaves her. “Please… just… forgive me…”

“It’s useless. It’s all useless… isn’t it?”

The attention is now focused on him, as he slowly backs away from the window and moves towards the woman who was, only a few hours ago, his old Aunt Natsuhi. Who was she now?

A murderer? Almost a given. She’s, by her own admission now, at the very least, killed this ‘man from nineteen years ago’.

An adulteress? Battler isn’t entirely convinced by that accusation. Neither are the others, with maybe the exception of Eva, who suggested it. But everyone has already agreed that Kinzo is almost certainly involved in the murders. His absence is just too suspicious. And since Natsuhi herself is the only person among them most likely to be the culprit… It’s only logical to conclude the two must’ve had some kind of a closer relationship.

Innocent…?

Is Ushiromiya Natsuhi innocent…?

The family head speaks: “You keep talking about this man from nineteen years ago… this ghost… as if it somehow changes the facts.” His voice is ice cold. “You can’t provide one reasonable explanation for your movements. We ask you where Uncle Krauss is, and you say he’s kidnapped. We ask you where you were on the night the people in the guesthouse got killed, and you can’t give a straight answer. We ask you where Grandfather is, and I end up jumping through a window just to make your story at least a bit believable.

“…But worst of all, we’ve proven you were in the closet when Uncle Hideyoshi was killed. And what do you say when we confront you on it? Again, the mysterious caller told you to do it.”

“B-Battler…” Natsuhi’s words barely reach his ears.

“All night… No, all day…” He crouches down next to her. “I’ve been desperately trying to believe you. To believe IN you. I just wanted one reason. One reason to trust you. And you couldn’t give me that.

“I don’t know what your motives were, in the end… I’m not sure I could ever understand them. No – maybe if it was just the feeling of being trapped here… I COULD understand that.” His eyes dart over to Natsuhi’s open diary, still exactly where it was left before. He regrets that they’d read it aloud. He regrets hurting this woman. He doesn’t want to hurt her anymore.

He hopes she’ll just give up. “I don’t know if you killed a baby. I hope you didn’t. Even if you did, I’m… sure you’re not monster.

“So, please… Please tell us the truth now, Aunt Natsuhi. Where are the bodies? Gramps took them, didn’t he? Where? Why?”

“I… I don’t… k-know…” the accused murmurs.

“She’s lying!” Eva’s voice is just as cracked at this point.

Rudolf puts his hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Hey. C’mon. Take a seat, okay? Breathe.”

Eva brushes the hand off. “To kill even your own husband…” But the venom simply can’t stop dripping out. “Your own daughter… For who…? Father…? Do you honestly think—”

Battler looks to the scorned woman. “Please stop it.”

“Hah.” She scoffs. “You think that ring gives you the right to talk down to—?!”

“Whatever you have to say, you’ll get your chance to say it.” This is Kyrie now stepping in. “But something tells me, when the time for it comes, you’ll know better. Now you don’t, though. You’re hurt. We all are. But this is getting us nowhere.”

Eva clicks her tongue, but ultimately complies.

Battler sighs, bringing Natsuhi back onto the sofa. “There’s nothing more for us to do here. When the police come, they’ll sort it out.” He turns to the servants. “Shannon. Kanon. Please help me restrain Aunt Natsuhi. We’ll keep her here until—”

“I’m not staying another minute with her.” Eva quickly reactivates, an air of finality in her voice.

“We have to stick together.” Battler says. “Gramps is still a danger.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Miss Eva.” Doctor Nanjo finally speaks. “I do believe that… we should likely restrain her, but it’ll still be hours and hours until the police show up. Assuming the storm even clears up by tomorrow. I don’t think it’s wise to keep her in the same room as us. Especially with the… violence displayed.”

“I—I agree!” Gohda offers his two cents.

“…I’m sorry, Mistress Natsuhi. I…” Kumasawa quickly falls back to a loss for words.

Battler seems uneasy. “I understand you’re all worried, but…”

“No.”

Natsuhi rises once more. “No. I understand.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “I understand perfectly. You need to do what you have to do.”

“…I wish things hadn’t turned out like this.” Battler says, almost offering it as a peace treaty.

“I wish that, too.” She sniffs. “I really do.” Her composure slowly returns to her. “But there’s… nothing more to hope for. Nothing… matters anymore, does it? I’ve lost everything.”

“She’s going at it again.” Eva grimaces.

“And… now that I’ve lost everything… I suppose… I will do what I have to do… to survive.”

Nobody quite catches the implication. At least, not in time to stop her from leaping towards the door.

Rudolf was already standing when she made her move, though. He’s already made it halfway across the room before she’s even reached the door. And the door’s locked. They’d made sure of it when they brought her downstairs to confront her.

Is this… just panic?

Or—

“Wait.”

The scene from the study earlier in the day flashes before Battler’s eyes. When he was demonstrating Kinzo’s escape, he toyed with the idea of going to the door, only to actually…

“Wait!” he shouts.

But he realizes it too late to stop it. Without warning, Natsuhi changes her trajectory. Everyone’s eyes were too focused on the door to keep it guarded, and she takes full advantage of that, rushing towards the window.

“Aunt Natsuhi, no!”

She’s already thrown the weight of her body against the window.

The crash happens.

And she disappears.

“Shit!” Rudolf stumbles from the door to the now-shattered window. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Did she really just—?!” He chuckles. “Well, hell.

Kyrie brings her hand to her chin. “Didn’t know she had it in her.”

“Are you kidding me? She’s a mass murderer at this point!” Eva points out.

“W-Well don’t just stand there!” Of all the people, Gohda is the one to raise an objection to the nonchalance everyone seems to have taken the amazing feat. “G-Go after her!”

Rudolf peers through the window. “And get myself killed? No thanks. It’s pitch-black out there. And I don’t see her.”

“If she wants to attack us, she’ll have a pretty hard time doing it if we stick together.” Kyrie notes. “Plus, jumping through glass must’ve cut her up pretty badly. I don’t expect her to give us much trouble.”

Battler looks to the broken window, and the blood dripping from some of the sharp edges.

“S-Still…” Shannon speaks up, for the first time since the confrontation began, “with Master Kinzo…”

“With all due respect,” Kanon turns to his fellow servant, “given his age, I don’t think they can outnumber us.”

“Just leaving them out in the night like that, though…” Shannon shudders. “What if they freeze to death?”

“Good riddance, then.” Eva declares, falling into a chair.

Battler looks at his hand.

The ring of the family head somehow doesn’t feel as heavy anymore. Is it because there’s so little of his family left to lead…?


	3. Detective

_PRESENT / 1998_

Virgilius steps onto the platform, catching a stray yawn in his hand. The trip to Niijima turned out to be everything he thought it would be. Long and boring on the way there, long and boring on the way back, and especially long and boring in the middle. Meeting the good doctor was pleasant enough, but the old man had no interest to offer anything Virgilius hadn’t already learned from the other interviews. And nothing in the other interviews was any different than what was in the official police report. Not even cheap tabloids offered a hint of mystique.

Perhaps that, in itself, should tell him something. That there’s nothing to dig deep into: Ushiromiya Natsuhi committed the murders twelve years ago. Try as one might, some stones simply don’t bleed. And no matter how Virgilius squeezes, it seems this one isn’t letting a single drop.

“Occam’s razor, and all that.” he sighs. Not nearly with as much disappointment as with annoyance. The truth of the matter is, he never expected for any startling revelations when he took the job. As far as he was concerned then – and as far as he’s concerned now – it’s all to satisfy the stubbornness of a stubborn woman, so he can stubbornly take the money her stubborn brother must’ve stubbornly agreed to give her for what he must’ve believed was another stubborn undertaking.

Detective work certainly is unusual. Your average private eye gets paid for two weeks’ work to show what was likely obvious to all parties involved in the case from the start. Virgilius often tells people he generally doesn’t dabble in mysteries, but denial.

It makes the work easy.

Easy. But boring.

So, so boring.

He didn’t expect any startling revelations, sure. But it would’ve been nice to find one.

He looks to the sky, spreading his arms. The clouds must’ve followed him from Niijima, because he hasn’t seen the sun in days. Still, the breeze is light, and he feels at ease, inhaling the warm spring air.

The clock at the station says 12:15. That gives him more than two hours until he needs to give his report.

Virgilius walks over to a payphone, dialing the number of his office.

He waits.

And waits.

Nobody answers, though.

He clicks his tongue, hangs up, drops in another coin, this time dialing Celeste, the bar that idiot assistant of his is no doubt haunting at this time of day.

“Hello?” the Mama picks up almost immediately.

How refreshing! A responsible business! Having someone conveniently on the phone! Downright unprecedented!

The detective clears his throat. “Hello, madam. I am Sakashima from the local dog pound. We’ve received a call about some stray dogs wandering in your general area. Have you, perhaps, seen one recently?”

There’s a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Well, that depends. Are you looking for a particular stray?”

“He’s a gloomy-looking bulldog.”

“Got plenty of those around here.”

“Now, now.” he says, “We both know that’s not true. In this time of day or any other.”

Her voice lowers. “You wound me, Will.”

“It’s the duty of the gentleman to speak the truth.” he points out.

“And it’s the duty of a respectable lady to shove a boot up such gentlemen’s asses.”

“Thankfully, I’ve yet to cross paths with one.” He leans against the glass of the booth. “C’mon, pass the phone over.”

The voice on the other end becomes muffled: “Eiji! It’s for you!”

After a few moments of shuffling, another voice comes alive: “Hello?”

Virgilius deepens his voice. “We’ve got yer boss. If ya don’t give us four million yen by da end of da—”

“Keep him.” the man on the other end declares, before the line suddenly goes dead.

The detective hangs up. As much as he wants to chastise his no-good assistant, the two words he had to offer were enough to determine the mental state he’s in.

“This is one of those days, huh?” he confirms to himself. No doubt when they actually get to talk, a rather unpleasant conversation will follow. It was, to some extent, inevitable – he was going to find out he’d taken something related to the Rokkenjima case. Eiji, for all his faults, does not live in _complete_ ignorance.

“Oh, well. I guess due diligence demands I ask that woman about it, huh?” he murmurs, disappearing into the bustle of the station, hands in pockets.

***

Ushiromiya Ange leans back in her seat, turning her head to get another view of the city below. She hasn’t touched her meal.

“I’ll wait until you get something.” she told when Virgilius sat down, but she hasn’t so much as glanced at it since his refusal.

It’s making the waiter uneasy. The particular restaurant they’re in, after all, is part of a hotel chain the Ushiromiya family has a generous stake in. As he watches over the two unusual guests, he wonders if there’s something wrong with the steak. Or is Ushiromiya Ange one of those people who can just never be pleased? He’s convinced it has to be one of the other, and both smell doom. What will she complain about? The chef? The service? The whole restaurant? The hotel in general? And how likely is it that the complain would ruin the waiter’s job?

Of course, Ushiromiya Ange is not thinking of the chef, the service, the restaurant, or the hotel. The thing keeping her stomach empty is her own uneasiness. She wants to always be prepared, but she can’t be sure what she wants Virgilius to tell her. That everything is as it seems? That her suspicions about her brother’s strange behavior had been entirely unfounded?

Or that she’s right, and Ushiromiya Battler – maybe others – have hidden something from her in the deaths of her cousins?

She sighs. There’s no use in trying to put it off forever.

“Report.” she says, finally. Most of the usual authority in her voice has already been swallowed away by the initial silence.

Even if it hadn’t been, it’s doubtful it would’ve made much of a difference in Virgilius’ own tone: “As I warned you, Miss Ushiromiya, I’m afraid I have nothing to report. Nothing you didn’t know already.”

He reaches into the breast pocket of his coat. The bodyguard in the corner flinches. The wink Virgilius gives him doesn’t help. Even when seeing that the detective has pulled out a black leather-bound notebook, and even after he makes an attempt to grin, he finds that he can no longer relax. Maybe it’s just this strange man’s attitude he’s not a fan of.

Virgilius flips the notebook open. “Your parents certainly have a nice place, don’t they? They didn’t strike me as the type of people who would settle out in Mie Prefecture, though. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said they were lying low, but, ah… those unfortunate connections with the underground were severed once the Ushiromiya family got their… boost in fortune, which happened right around the time of the Rokkenjima incident. Curious, isn’t it?”

Ange cocks her head. “I don’t think it’s very wise to try and get under my skin, detective.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it.” he smiles. “You merely asked me to follow through on all potential leads. Do you not believe that the Ushiromiya’s sudden wealth might’ve been related to the massacre?”

She blinks. “As long as you can’t tell me how the deaths of people who had no money would somehow net billions and billions of yen, I think I’ll go with the reasonable option of smart investments.”

“Life insurance policies exist, you know.”

“And, as I’m sure you’re aware, assuming you’ve done your job, none of the people killed had one on their lives.”

“Nor did a single person on that island have something resembling a good investment before that family conference.” he notes. “Where does that leave us?”

“Off-topic. They didn’t have my brother before. Then, they did. And it made all the difference.” She takes a sip of her wine. “What did my parents tell you?”

“Exactly what I expected them to. In fact, all of them told the exact same story – your parents, Mr. Gohda, your aunt, Doctor Nanjo… Obviously, the servant Kumasawa has passed away. The remaining servants, Shannon and Kanon, I was unable to track down, I’m afraid. They seem to have changed their names at some point, and the paper trail died soon after. Something tells me they wouldn’t have acted any differently than the rest, though.

“If I had to sum it up, I would paraphrase the joint statement as something like this:

“After murdering seven members of her own family due to some mixture of a mental breakdown and an unhealthy obsession, Ushiromiya Natsuhi disappeared into the island with her father-in-law and accomplice, Ushiromiya Kinzo. The exact nature of their madness, nor any method behind them, was ever discovered. Neither of the two were ever seen again, in spite of an exhaustive search in the investigation that followed. The bodies of Ushiromiya Krauss, Rosa, Maria, George and Jessica, and the head servant, Ronoue Genji, were never recovered, either.

“Before she fled, Ushiromiya Natsuhi was adamant of her innocence, putting the blame on a child she had supposedly killed nineteen years prior. Reading the actual testimony, I would call it a bit of good melodrama – the murdered child surviving and returning for revenge. Of course, in the investigation that followed, no proof of such child existing was ever discovered.

“Does all this sound accurate?”

Ange nods.

“Now,” he continues, “if I were stupid, I would’ve called it rehearsed, but… I can’t really imagine so many people would so capably conspire to lie. You would think that, at one point or another, someone would talk. Unless – of course – they had a good reason to keep them all in line.

“Could you, Miss Ushiromiya, think of such a reason?”

“Are you implying something?”

He shrugs. “Of course not. I can’t imply anything. After all, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve gathered no real evidence, here. The one person I want to talk to – the only person I _should have_ talked to from the start – is your brother, Ushiromiya Battler.”

“And, as I’ve told you time and time again, that is not an option.” she says.

“And, as I’ve told YOU, that makes my investigation go nowhere. HE is the one you’re claiming is acting strange. The idea that it has something to do with the Rokkenjima massacre is only your speculation. It could very well be wrong. And even if it isn’t – there’s nothing to suggest that something other than what’s been reported has happened. It was a traumatic incident. And people have a tendency to get themselves haunted by those.”

“If that’s all there is to it… that’s good enough for me.”

He grins. “I have no choice but to believe that, seeing as how you haven’t even bothered to tell me what kind of behavior your brother’s been exhibiting. There’s a whole spectrum between ‘losing a little weight’ to ‘someone murmuring confessions of murder in their sleep’, you know.

“To be perfectly honest with you, Miss Ushiromiya, I’m almost getting the sense you specifically hired me so I could tell you I found nothing noteworthy.”

Ange doesn’t break eye contact. “…Because?”

Because of the same reason that makes the job so boring on most days.

Not that he’d ever say it out loud. Better to play the game to its natural conclusion: “I’d love to tell you that. If you allowed me to speak to your brother.”

The response is immediate: “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Because?”

“Because…” her voice drifts off. “Because…”

“…You don’t want to break his trust? I certainly understand the feeling.”

“No. No, I don’t really think you do.” she says bluntly.

She isn’t wrong. At best, he knows of it. But Virgilius can’t be bothered to make the distinction, let alone explain it.

“In that case,” he tells her, “there’s nothing more I can do for you.”

“Very well. You are dismissed, Virgilius.”

His eyelids drop ever so slightly. “Most people call me Will.”

She smiles. “Well then, Will—”

He wags his finger. “However. You are not most people, are you, Miss Ange? To have you call me ‘Will’ would put you in a category you’re well above. Therefore, ‘Virgilius’ will have to do, won’t it?”

“What an annoying detective you are.”

“If you find one that isn’t, then you’re probably the person being investigated.” he says, his gaze slowly drifting back to the blackened skies.

Ange can’t help but laugh. “I bet your one goal is life is to have people tell you how much of an interesting person you are.”

“Not at all.” he says, putting the notebook back in his pocket. “On the contrary, I don’t like talking about myself at all.”

“How on Earth do you get people to trust you, then?” she asks, not without earnestness in her voice.

“They don’t need to trust me.” he says. “It’s nice if they like my eyes, but it’s just one of the methods of getting the answers you want. Here, people trusted me because I told them I was acting on your behalf. Things like that make the term ‘independent investigator’ seem far less threatening. And if people don’t feel threatened, they’re much more likely to share information.

“…That’s usually what you’d read in a textbook, anyway. In reality, people who have something worth hiding are, by nature, distrustful creatures. If they don’t feel threatened, they’ll become all the more confident in lying to your face. And that’s no good. Even if they’re bad at it, it’s still disrespectful. Makes you feel weak as an investigator.

“The true way to win as a detective… is fear. Instead of making them feel relaxed, make them feel all the more threatened. Bring a person to the gates of Hell, and they’ll confess even their darkest secrets in an attempt to repent.”

Ange picks up the fork and knife. “Do you think you’re a scary man, then, Virgilius?”

“Depends. Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

“Then maybe I should try and make you afraid.”

Ange slices into her steak. It’s gotten a bit cold, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “By all means. But I’ll warn you right now, mere threats won’t work on me.”

“There’s a difference between ‘threatening someone’ and ‘making a threat’, Miss Ushiromiya.” he points out. “I could tell you I will stab you, and you would tell me your bodyguard would shoot me dead before I even grab the knife. I could tell you I will expose your deepest, darkest secret, and you would tell me an even darker one to show me how little it means. That would be making threats. But that doesn’t make me threatening.

“To make you fear me, I only need to make you doubt yourself, Ange.”

“Stick to ‘Miss Ushiromiya’, if you will.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her. “I’ve taken a look at the list of survivors numerous times now. Your brother, your parents, your aunt, the doctor, the servants… But, you know, somehow, I get this feeling that there’s a name missing from it. In fact, not only am I certain of it, but I get the feeling it’s the reason for your brother’s strange behavior.”

Only now does he have her attention. The look in her eye almost makes him regret it. “What do you mean? Who? What are you talking about?”

“Furudo Erika.”

“Furudo… Erika?”

Virgilius gets up from the chair. “Ask your brother about it. If you’re willing to fight against your own self-doubts.”

“Wait.” she orders.

But he doesn’t.

And, as he knew she wouldn’t, she doesn’t go after him.

***

Walking past the hotel reception, he can’t help but grin at his own stupidity. He’d gone too far. Of course he had. There’s no chance Ange would’ve known anything about that name. The chances of her actually asking her brother about it are, inexplicably, even smaller.

A complete and total shot in the dark. The existence of a 19th guest on Rokkenjima. Virgilius had already decided nothing would likely come of that last play.

But the look in her eye was quite something, wasn’t it…?

And besides—

Eiji is less likely to hound him about Erika now. He had, after all, taken _some_ initiative on the matter.

“Hah. As if.” the detective thinks to himself.

Eiji can’t stop hounding _himself_ about Erika – Rokkenjima case or no Rokkenjima case; Ushiromiya Ange or no Ushiromiya Ange. It’s why today isn’t the first or last time the two will have to talk about her.

Virgilius wonders if today is the day: when he won’t make it to Celeste in time to stop his assistant from drinking himself to death.


	4. Curse of the Golden Witch

_FUTURE / 2011_

His head against the window of the booth, Eiji absent-mindedly stares at the irregular March snowfall. His mouth feels dry. He’s longing for a drink. He knows he shouldn’t. Although he’d never been an alcoholic, he’s always been somehow proud of himself for not drinking even casually anymore. Will tonight be the night he breaks the streak? If there’s ever been such an occasion, it’s surely tonight.

Virgilius is dead. The police detective that relentlessly questioned Eiji for over six hours has failed to instill any sense of trust in his witness. Or is Eiji a suspect…? Unlikely. When the neighbors heard the gunshot, Eiji was seen buying the coffee beans.

The stupid coffee beans. Why couldn’t he have gotten them the day after? Would Virgilius be alive if he had? Or would he have gotten himself killed, too? Or would the culprit have simply waited for a better opportunity?

Question. Question. Question. If. If. If.

If only.

His mouth is dry. He needs a drink now.

Yet, the thought of getting one somehow feels disrespectful to his boss’ memory. So, he opts in for another vice, pulling a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth.

A stranger’s hand comes into view, lighting it for him.

It’s Mama.

“Oh. Thanks.” he tells her.

She smiles, settling into the booth with him.

He looks at his watch. 3 AM. The bar is deserted. Nothing all that unusual, regardless of time of day, with the exception of the darkness that seems to have enveloped every section of it but his and Virgilius’ usual booth.

Well. His booth now, isn’t it?

“How’re you holding up?” Mama asks him.

The question enters one ear and comes out the other, but their eyes meet, regardless. It’s funny how little they know about each other, in spite of the fact Celeste has been his and Virgilius’ haunt for all these years. Most of the reason ultimately coming down to neither party asking a personal question. For Eiji, it’s almost always been Mama’s eyes. Even as a woman in her early sixties, with grayed hair and pored skin, the eyes have always emitted a certain amount of hostility. Not that she’s ever been rude or threatened anyone; but you generally feel that she doesn’t _want_ to be asked any personal questions.

You come to Celeste. You order a drink. You make a joke. That’s all Mama wants to do with you.

But now, she’s sitting across him. The look isn’t that of worry – it’s discomfort, plain and simple. She doesn’t _know_ what to say, yet she understands she _needs_ to say something, but she doesn’t _want_ to say anything. It isn’t purely curtesy. She’d gotten used to Virgilius. She understands she’ll feel his absence. And she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Mama blinks, bringing Eiji back to reality.

“Do the police know anything?” she asks. “Any leads, or…?”

“Wouldn’t know.” he lies.

Being an errand boy for as long as he has, he was bound to make some connections in the police. His informant assured him the investigation was only starting out, but the little they had was enough to make Eiji mindlessly sit in the booth of Celeste for what has now been six or so hours.

Multiple people had heard the gunshot – both inside the office building and out in the street. The people in the building themselves failed to offer much; they claimed they’d thought some punks had gotten their hands on a box of firecrackers; not unusual for this neighborhood. But the people outside were a bit more skeptical, sticking around to see what may happen next.

And what happened next was certainly a sight to behold:

Leaving the building was a woman. Long, blonde hair. In a western dress. A shotgun in-hand. Most hid. Some screamed. One man claimed he was about to tackle her before thinking better of it. But none managed to see the face of the mysterious woman. And she didn’t bother to look at any of theirs.

She simply walked off into the night. By the time the police arrived, snow had hidden even her footprints.

Witnesses noted the dress’ peculiar design. Most notably was the symbol most agreed looked like—

“Were you and Will close?” Mama speaks, breaking his train of thought. “It sounds rude to ask, I know, but I’ve always found it difficult to pin the kind of dynamic you two actually had.”

“Tough to really call us ‘close.’” Eiji admits. “I wouldn’t have called us ‘partners’ either; he led and I followed. That was always the deal. And most of the time, I didn’t mind.

“Most people wouldn’t have called us ‘friends.’ After all, for all intents and purposes, he more or less ruined my life. But I guess I would call him that. A friend.” He leans back in his seat. “You ever had a friend you hated from the depths of your soul?”

Mama smiles. “Maybe. Depends. We can feel love and hate towards one person in equal measure. That’s what makes us so terrible.”

Eiji says nothing, inhaling the smoke.

“Of course,” she’s quick to add, “I don’t know how he ruined your life. Forgive me for judging.”

“It’s not that he did it willingly or anything. But everything I am as a person now is ultimately because of him. And while I don’t hate the person I am… someone content shouldn’t be asking themselves ‘What if I’d never met Virgilius?’ as much as I do.”

He chuckles, his gaze turning back to the window. “My passion was always acting, but my parents insisted I go to university. It was either that or getting cut off, so I became a psychology student. Virgilius wasn’t, but we met in a lecture of my freshman year, anyway. He said he was there for the knowledge and snuck in regularly. Nobody cared.

“That’s what he said, anyway. After I called campus security on him, I guess he learned better.” Eiji laughs. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a stickler for rules or anything. If someone wants to better themselves, more power to them. But the guy just had this pompous air about him. Figured someone should put him in his place, y’know?

“Well, anyway, I guess I should’ve known a guy like that would hold a grudge. He got me back good.”

Mama leans her cheek on the palm of her hand. “Let me guess. He got you kicked out of university? Or, no. The big play got sabotaged?”

“Worse.” Eiji lights another cigarette. “He arranged for me to meet his sister.”

“And that was… the worst possible outcome?”

“Trust me, if you met someone who called themselves an intellectual—” he stops himself. “Let’s just say that it caused a domino effect. I didn’t get my degree. I’m certainly no actor, either, am I? I simply ended up working for Virgilius.”

“Lesson learned: stay away from intellectuals.”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.” He laughs half-heartedly.

As he lights his third cigarette, his mind goes back to the girl he met over twenty-five years ago. He shudders, her voice ringing in his ears:

 _‘Hello. My name is Furudo Erika. I am very pleased to meet you.’_ He remembers the surprising curtesy of their first meeting. The softness in her voice. Even back then, he could tell she was wearing a mask. Maybe that’s what intrigued him so much about her.

 _‘Well…? How about it…? That cat keychain! The change in cologne! That music tape! That sudden part-time job of yours… All those long phone calls…? You going to the theater and spending the night at your stage friends’?! And you… you still… deny it? Even without all this evidence, this level of reasoning would still… be possible for Furudo Erika. Do you understand…? Because you are a fraud. A liar. A cheat. With or without evidence, that truth exists. And I see it. So how… how can you possibly still deny it…?’_ Unfortunately, he also remembers their last meeting. The cracks in her voice.

_‘Look at me, Eiji! Stop looking at that script and look at ME! Say something…!’_

Something squeezes in his chest. Her voice is fading away. His head is starting to hurt. Now he’s hearing his own words. The very last things he told her.

“…No.” he says, suddenly, burying his head in his hand. “I guess that’s not fair at all, is it…? Neither Virgilius nor she are entirely responsible for things turning out like this. My actions… also played a part.” He sniffs. “That’s why I can hate him… but not blame him. And if I can’t blame him, I know I don’t really hate him. Does that make sense?”

“It does.” Mama says simply.

But that’s as good as it’ll ever get for Eiji. It can make all the sense it the world, but nothing can change the fact that he’s the one who broke Erika’s heart. He’s the one who chased her away to that cruise.

He’s the one who made her disappear forever.

***

The office has been deemed off-limits due to the investigation. Any and all files Virgilius had gathered for his investigation into Rokkenjima are now out of Eiji’s reach.

For the first time, he thinks, he’ll have to rely on his own findings.

Now in his own apartment, Eiji reaches under his bed. The five cardboard boxes underneath have gathered a thick layer of dust, ever since he finally came to terms with Erika likely being dead. Each of the boxes represents one of the islands she could’ve ended up on after disappearing from the Eternal Maid. Over the years, he’d been to all of them, spent days searching has much as he could. Taking photos. Notes. Learning the history from the locals. Searching for the slightest hint of a sighting of her.

The only exception was, of course, Rokkenjima. Rokkenjima is off-limits to this very day.

And yet, Rokkenjima’s box has always been the heaviest.

It was really the timing that had Eiji focus so much on it. That girl loved mysteries. And a closed circle situation happening without her being present…? On the same night she supposedly fell off a cruise ship…? He didn’t believe in fate, but some rule of the universe had to have orchestrated for those two lines to cross. He sincerely believed that. He still does.

‘Squeezing blood from a stone.’ Virgilius always told him.

But Virgilius is dead, so not like he has a say anymore.

It doesn’t take a lot of rummaging for Eiji to find what he was looking for.

A few years after Virgilius conducted his investigation into the Rokkenjima incident, and shortly after the Ushiromiya family’s influence began to shrink, a small-time newspaper did interviews with the fishermen working in the Izu archipelago. They believed that the sudden rise in the Ushiromiya’s fortune following the massacre resembled the one Kinzo had experienced shortly after taking the position of family head. The cause, according to them, was the new family head, Ushiromiya Battler, making a deal with a witch who lived on the island. This was because Kinzo had allegedly done the same, getting her to create gold for him; and with it, his empire.

She was known as the Golden Witch, Beatrice.

What followed was a chain reaction.

The story got picked up and spread over the emerging internet. Some old business associates of Kinzo’s caught wind of it, and stated that the old man had been obsessed with the witch. They claimed that they’d seen a giant portrait of her hanging in the entrance hall of the Rokkenjima mansion. In his late years, it seems, the man had turn to madness and the occult, in some desperate bid to revive her. Doctor Nanjo, Kinzo’s personal physician, eventually admitted to it after being barraged by out-of-town reporters. This led to a lot of old business decisions of the Ushiromiya family – both past and current – to be re-examined, significantly hurting the family’s image. In privacy and business alike.

This all eventually led to the portrait of the witch resurfacing. It seemed Battler had auctioned it off shortly after taking his position as the head.

Eiji now looks at the photograph of the painting.

A blonde woman in a western dress, wearing the mark of the one-winged eagle.

He lights another cigarette.

Of course, the mystique did not end there. The newspapers were just sharpening their claws. While it was generally agreed that Kinzo and Natsuhi had committed the murders out of some form of madness, the nature of that madness was either never revealed to the public or deliberately withheld by the family during the investigation.

However, with all the talk of the painting, an old artist came forward to say there was another piece of art Kinzo had commissioned – an epitaph etched in stone.

“Behold the sweetfish river running through my beloved hometown…” Eiji murmurs, knowing it by heart already.

It describes the revival of the witch through a set of ceremonial killings.

The truth was now clear: Kinzo had committed the crimes in an attempt to revive the witch. The first set of murders of six people, after all, matched the first step of the ceremony almost perfectly:

_‘On the first twilight, offer the six chosen by the key as sacrifices.’_

The death of Ushiromiya Hideyoshi fit the pattern, too:

_‘On the second twilight, those who remain shall tear apart the two who are close.’_

By taking away the husband, it can be argued Hideyoshi and his wife were ‘torn apart’ as a married couple.

Obviously, Kinzo and Natushi got caught before they could play the rest of the ceremony out. Even so, some believed that Kinzo had later succeeded in summoning the witch, committing murders off the island. After all, how else would have the Ushiromiyas reclaimed so much financial power, if a witch had not gifted them gold…?

In this sea of speculation, a tsunami arose as a bombshell eventually fell. Two years ago, an exclusive interview with the family chef at the time of the massacre, Gohda Toshiro, revealed that, on the night of October 4th, the family had discovered a threatening letter – one signed by Beatrice herself. He and the rest of the people there had been bribed by Ushiromiya Battler to withhold all mention of the letter or the witch from the police and media. Gohda himself was not privy to the contents of the letter, but he was certain of its existence, given what he had heard from the other servants.

Now, of course, most either dismissed the chef as attention-seeking or as the letter being yet another act in Kinzo’s tragedy. In the case of the latter, it would’ve made sense why the family would’ve liked to keep the grizzly details of the old man’s insanity a secret.

Some, however, began to speculate that the Golden Witch never needed to be revived in the first place. Kinzo had summoned her years before and gotten his gold. On that night in 1986, she had descended onto the island once more, ready for get Kinzo to pay off his debt…

Natsuhi and Kinzo, therefore, would have been nothing but pawns of the witch. Perhaps even innocent altogether? Suppose that Ushiromiya Battler had conspired with the witch, appeased her by the murders, and used his aunt and grandfather to take the fall? The witch, perhaps, need not have been given all the sacrifices. Just enough to show commitment. As a reward, she gave him wealth.

“Do witches use shotguns, though?” Eiji wonders aloud. “And what business would she have with Virgilius? So many years after…?”

…And after what, exactly? It isn’t like his investigation had turned up much. Eiji remembers the two doing some theorizing on the case after the fact, but it’d never gone anywhere. Certainly in no directions where anyone should’ve considered them a threat, at least.

Was Virgilius looking into it on his own? Although he considers it, Eiji’s generally been good at sniffing out whenever the boss was hiding something from him. That’s exactly what happened thirteen years ago. As far as he’s been able to tell, the incident had really been left alone.

Besides, even if Virgilius had stumbled across some different truth, the statute of limitations has long-since expired. It’s unlikely anyone would’ve been in any real legal danger.

What are the alternatives, then? Ushiromiya Battler decided he’s in a jam, a bit short on cash, but instead of murdering his immediate family, this time he goes around getting part-time associates killed to appease the witch?

Or is it Ushiromiya Natsuhi, returning from decades of exile to punish all those who stuck their noses in the affair over the years?

These musings, while equally silly and easily dismissible, do give Eiji some insight. His first step should likely be determining whether or not Virgilius is the only victim of this so-called witch. If he isn’t, it tells him a particular group is being targeted, and he can narrow the possibilities down by looking at common links. If he is, then it’s likely the culprit was after Virgilius specifically. This would make it more likely that the culprit is using the Ushiromiya imagery to distract from their true motive. They’d probably learned of Virgilius working with the Ushiromiyas at one point and decided to take advantage of the growing interest in the occult people are showing online. They probably hadn’t known how short-lived the partnership was, making it all stick out.

It sounds like a good reasoning point for Eiji. Virgilius would’ve likely given him a gold star.

…Although, in likelihood, he would’ve probably said something like: ‘Eiji, don’t rush into this, you handsome devil.’ (Paraphrasing.) ‘Even if it turns out I’m the only victim, it doesn’t mean I’ll be the last. Or that there haven’t been other victims.’

Eiji clicks his tongue. Investigating sucks. Especially when you’re not an actual investigator.

He digs his hands back into the box for anything else of note. Papers, newspaper clippings, photographs, some VHS tapes of interviews…

“Ah—”

He stops, finding a familiar sheet of paper.

‘REQUEST TO FIND A PERSON’ says on the top. Virgilius organized client requests by having them fill out forms, based on the type of job they wanted.

This is an old one. It’s crumpled, it’s gotten brown, and the ink is just barely legible anymore.

It was actually filled out on the very day Virgilius had come back from Nijima, thirteen years ago.

…Eiji had been too blind to understand its importance back then.

He looks over the name written in the ‘CLIENT NAME’ field:

_‘Yasuda Sayo.’_

Maybe she has some useful information?

“Well, not like I didn’t try tracking her down before…” and failing.

He continues looking through the box.

It’s going to be a long night.

***

Just as he brings another cigarette to his lips, Eiji hears a noise coming from the apartment’s front door.

“Hello?”

No response. The noise continues.

It almost sounds like… scratching?

Unlit cigarette still in-mouth, he strolls over to the front door. He sees nothing through the peephole. The scratching continues, even so.

He undoes the chain and opens the door.

He still sees nobody.

“Meow.” a noise comes from below.

Sitting on the welcome mat is a black cat.

Eiji stares at it.

It stares at him.

“Meow.”

“Well,” he bites at the cigarette filter a bit harder, “this definitely isn’t ominous or anything.”

“Meow.”

He picks the cat up. It doesn’t seem like it has a collar. But it doesn’t look dirty, either. Doesn’t seem too likely for a stray to just wander into the apartment building, anyhow.

He peeks into the hallway. He hears the hum of a moving elevator.

Nobody to the left. Nobody to the right.

“Meow.”

Back to the left. The elevator at the end of the hall comes to a stop.

“Meow!” The cat brings its paw to Eiji’s chest.

The elevator doors open.

It takes him a moment to register the figure inside.

“Mreow!”

The cigarette falls out of his mouth.

A blonde woman, wearing a western dress. On it is the sign of the one-winged eagle. The design isn’t the same as the one in the portrait, though. In fact, it looks nothing like it. The dress itself looks old; stitched together out of several different dresses. Even the one-winged eagle, he realizes, must have been sown in after the fact.

It’s impossible to make out the woman’s face. No wonder the witnesses couldn’t make it out – she’s wearing a Noh mask. Assuming Eiji’s theater knowledge can still be trusted, it looks to be the Deigan. The name comes from the core feature of its design:

The golden eyes.

He’s focusing on the wrong things, though.

There’s a shotgun in her hand. And a belt of shotgun shells hangs off her shoulder.

“Mreoww!”

There we go. Now he’s noticed.

Just as the woman raises the shotgun, Eiji dives back into his apartment, slamming the door behind him. He has to set the chain, too. It’s a bit harder with a cat still in his arms, but he’s too terrified to remember he even has it.

“Meow.”

The cat does his work for him, jumping onto the ground and rushing towards the windowsill of the lone living room window. No doubt, it’s aware of the danger.

Taking the hint, Eiji follows it, opening the window.

And he remembers.

“…Fifth floor.”

If the fall doesn’t kill him, it’ll leave his legs broken.

“Meow.” the cat suggests.

“Fuck that!” he snorts, turning his attention back to the rest of the room.

Where else to go, though? The front door is now off-limits. ‘Beatrice’ is bound to burst in any moment now. He could hide in the bathroom, but if his assailant checks it first, it’s game over. He’d be a sitting duck.

Maybe if he leaves the window open, it’ll force her to look through it first? If he hides somewhere else – say, the closet – then, he could take advantage of that moment and run away? Push her out, even?

It’s too risky, though. If you’re aware it’s the fifth floor, you’d think better than to immediately assume someone jumped out. He’d need to catch her off-guard some other way.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Meow!”

Think, Eiji, think!

What if he goes for a double bluff? Leave the window open. But also leave the closet door ajar. Make her think that he wanted her to think he jumped through the window. When she goes for the closet, he could ambush her from his true hiding spot – under the bed.

But what if she checks the bed first, anyway…?!

The knocking turns into banging.

“Mreow!”

Where…?!

Where can he hide…?!

He hears the cocking of the shotgun.

“Mreowwww!”

“Just shut up for a sec! Let me think here…!”

He’s going to die here.

He’s going to be killed like Virgilius…!

“MREOOOOWWWW!”

“Aaah, goddammit!” he shouts, his eyes back to the cat on the windowsill.

Bang.

The shotgun spread sends the door flying, pulling the chain lock straight off the wall.

The angel of death steps into the hallway, just in time to see Eiji’s silhouette, as he leaps out of the window.

***

This was stupid.

He’s going to die.

He’s practically already dead.

It’s all the cat’s fault.

Those are the thoughts running through Eiji’s mind, as he helplessly drifts through the air. The fall seems longer than it should. Maybe his life will flash before his eyes?

Or maybe his brain is preparing him for the brain-splitting pain he’s about to feel?

The snow on the ground seems closer and closer.

“I’m sorry, Erika.”

As far last words go, he feels it’s a good choice. He hopes he’ll get to carry them, wherever his soul ultimately wanders off to.

He closes his eyes.

And the world comes to an end.


	5. The Thin Line Between Logic and Imagination

_PRESENT / 1998_

“Mhhh…” Eiji groans. His eyes are shut, and his head firmly planted against the table of the booth. It fits neatly in the gap left by the empty glasses surrounding him.

Virgilius watches over him, attempting to hide his disdain.

“You should’ve cut him off.” His voice bounces off the walls of the deserted bar.

“He was more likely to do something stupid when sober.” Mama is making round trips between the booth and the bar, carrying the stacks of glasses to the sink.

“As if this isn’t stupid enough.” the detective clicks his tongue, looking at Eiji’s wristwatch. “He must’ve been wasted at lunchtime… What a useless guy. Who does he think he is? Stock brokers have more restraint than this.”

“Nhhh…” Another groan by the drunken man.

It’s not really the fact that he’s drunk that’s the problem for Virgilius. In principle, at least. The issue are the things stemming from it. Firstly, in the time he’s busy getting drunk, nobody’s looking over the agency. Secondly, what if previous clients saw him in this state? How would they recommend Virgilius’ services to their friends when this is the caliber of professionalism on display?

“It might be more bearable if he didn’t look so awful…” Virgilius tells himself. Although Eiji has yet to become an alcoholic, he’s already looking like a veteran. Thick unkempt beard, greasy brown hair, a stained sweater… Simply embarrassing.

The question is – which of the two is it bringing more embarrassment _to_? Eiji’s mere presence completely destroys all the effort Virgilius puts in his own appearance.

He heads to the bar. “How much does he owe you?”

Mama smiles. “Now, now, Will. You shouldn’t feel obligated to pay for him just because—”

Virgilius blinks. “Who said anything about paying for him? I just need to know if he’ll have me share my food with him next month.”

“How about I just make it on the house?”

“I am indebted to nobody, I’m afraid.”

“Who said anything about indebting _you_?” she laughs. “Next time he comes around, I’ll have him wash the windows. I’m getting a bit too old to handle it myself. And it’ll give him something to do while he thinks about all the ways he should yell at you.”

Virgilius taps his chin. “I can live with that.”

Mama claps her hands. “Thank you for your business!”

***

“Nhhh…” Eiji still groans.

“Ngh!” But so does Virgilius. “Heavy… bastard…!”

Incredibly, attempting to stay out of sight while dragging an unconscious man is proving harder than the detective imagined. Mama had offered to simply call a taxi for them, but that would’ve been no good. He has always made a point of leaving no trail – paper or otherwise – outside of work. Where he hung out, where he ate, what he did in his spare time – these things all have to be impossible for outside parties to determine. Being a detective, he’s aware more than anyone how easy it is to dig into a person’s life. It’s always made him uncomfortable.

That’s why he never takes taxis. Taxi drivers remember faces. Clothing. They are given money that carries the customers’ fingerprints. They keep a log of where they drove that day. And you bet a taxi driver will sell you that information for less than an actual ride would cost you.

That is why, unless he absolutely has to otherwise, Virgilius has always walked. Whenever he can afford it, he also chooses the most unusual routes, cutting through back alleys and poorly-secured apartment buildings. It not only keeps him out of sight, but allows to get the know the city better. When you understand the city, after all, it will open itself to you – it will speak its truth. It is the only entity in the world, Virgilius is convinced, you cannot threaten into submission.

But, at that moment, dropping Eiji’s unconscious body for the fifth time, his limbs hurting and his throat dry and his nostrils filled with the stench of whiskey, he regrets not taking Mama up on her offer.

***

“Heave-ho!” Finally, having reached their office, he throws Eiji into the bathtub. Sweat has managed to seep its way through the shirt, his waistcoat, his pants – all the way to his coat. The legwarmers especially haven’t been spared.

He turns the shower on.

“Next time, you’re on your own.” he declares, leaving behind the screams rising beneath the sudden rush of cold water.

His fingers dance across the record sleeves, his index finger eventually stopping at Fukui Ryo’s ‘Scenery.’ He takes the record out and places it on the player in the corner of the room. ‘It Could Happen to You’ slowly comes to life. Throwing the coat across his beloved armchair, warm blood finally starts flowing through him, as he gives in to the melody.

The office, to give Eiji some credit, looks presentable.

“He must’ve been bored out of his mind.” Virgilius concludes. There’s not a speck of dust. Case files have also been re-arranged and re-alphabetized, with the stray pages that had previously been casually strewn across the office finally brought back to their respective folders.

“Ah.”

Realization hits him. He’d left the Rokkenjima folder buried amongst the others. That’s how he must’ve found out about the case.

Then again, knowing Eiji, he’d probably suspected something from the beginning. He’s one of the few people Virgilius knows he can’t trick.

Not with ease, at least.

***

Eiji grunts. “I cleaned the place.”

Virgilius looks to the trail of water Eiji had left while crawling his way out of the bathroom. “So I’ve noticed.”

“There was a client. But she changed her mind halfway into filling out the form.”

“A shame.”

The two spend a minute in silence.

“You could’ve just left me there.” the half-drunk man says, his head getting clearer by the minute – mostly due to the pain rushing through it.

“Corpse abandonment is a crime.” Virgilius tells him.

“Well, sorry for the mild inconvenience.” Eiji’s eyes shut. “Then again, I might not be.”

And here we go. “You weren’t told because I knew what I would find, and what I found was zilch. There is nothing to suggest she was ever there, alive or de—”

“You didn’t find anything because you didn’t _want_ to find anything.”

“Trust me,” Virgilius leans against the window, “nobody wants to find my sister’s corpse more than me. If only so I can throw it at your feet and get you to get it together.”

The eyes re-open. “How can you talk about her like that…?”

“Because _I’ve_ come to terms with the fact she’s dead. Gone. I’d try to be more poetic about it, but whatever remains at this point isn’t even a shell. The best you can hope for is a skeleton. Assuming the bones haven’t all been scattered by the sea.”

Something’s turning in Eiji’s stomach, and it isn’t the whiskey. “And if she’s alive?”

“Then she sure hasn’t made an effort to reach out.” the detective points out.

“And what if she can’t?”

“And why would that be? Because she’s been kidnapped by the locals on one of the islands? Or do you think she’s being kept in the Ushiromiya dungeon? I wouldn’t worry too much, then, I hear it’s a wonderful place this time of yea—”

“Stop it.”

“You first.”

Eiji grits his teeth. “I just – want – to know – what happened to her. Is that hard to understand?”

“She fell off a boat.” Virgilius says, decisively. “And I’m an understanding person. I was understanding when you begged to work for me. I was understanding when we had this exact conversation the first time. I was understanding when we had this conversation the fiftieth time. I’m not sure I’ll be understanding forever, though.”

“Fire me, then.”

“Now, now,” the detective slips his tie off, “I do like the company.”

“And I like the company of people who keep their end of the deal. And our deal was that we’d take the time to look for her.”

“And that deal has been kept.” Virgilius digs his hand into the stack of case files.

Eiji blinks. “No! You—”

“Rokkenjima’s a dead end. Even if – _if_ – Erika had ended up on that island, those people aren’t saying a peep. And when you’ve got about a dozen people saying the same thing, it might as well be the truth.”

“Some detective you are.”

Virgilius rolls his eyes. “There’s one potential lead. I’ve done my best to plant the seeds of it, at least. I won’t promise anything will come of it. After all, say she _was_ there. What reason would they have to deny her being there, exactly? Even in the absolute worst-case, you could always say Natsuhi committed the crimes.”

“Say that they all conspired to frame Ushiromiya Natsuhi.” Eiji’s fist squeezes. “If Erika was killed… maybe something about the body conflicted with the story they gave? They _had_ to get rid of it, so they dumped it into the ocean and pretended she was never there. Remember, they also never recovered the bodies of six people!”

“How is that, pray tell, functionally different than her washing ashore? Or just not being there at all? At the end of the day, her body—”

“I want to explore every possibility! Now, that could’ve happened, right?! She could’ve survived falling off the ship and gotten caught up in the murders!”

“…I can’t, of course, deny the possibility.” the other man shrugs. “But I can’t see it playing out the way you’re describing it. If it IS a conspiracy, it’s much more convenient to blame all the murders on the stranger and make them disappear.”

“Maybe they just hated Natsuhi that much?” Eiji suggests.

“Or Natsuhi is the culprit and everything happened as was told.”

“But the papers at the time—"

“—Stopped writing whatever they were writing the moment they heard the word ‘libel.’ Just think about it for a minute. Let’s assume something else happened and the family come up with a completely different story.

“The first problem: while it’s sensible to throw the blame on Natsuhi, why would they include Kinzo in the narrative? Natsuhi’s an outsider. It’s simple enough. But Kinzo? It’s a massive scandal to the family. If you write the story, write that part out.”

“To make the story more believable?” Eiji offers.

Virgilius smiles. “You’re certainly not believing it, are you?

“The second problem: why would they let Natsuhi’s story about ‘the man from nineteen years ago’ to the public? Put aside whether or not she ever actually said it. It opens the door to the press looking into the family’s past. Why would a woman as careful as, say, Ushiromiya Eva, leave that door open? To make Natsuhi sound crazy? They could’ve said she was naked covered in occultic symbols. Makes her sound batshit enough, doesn’t it?”

Eiji scratches the back of his head. “They were confident that the media wouldn’t find anything?”

“Or they were being honest.” Virgilius tilts his head. “Those two are reasons enough for me to conclude that this isn’t a conspiracy. If there is another culprit, then they’ve tricked the others into believing they’re innocent.

“It also means that there’s no good reason for the family to hide Erika’s presence. So, we’re right back where we started.”

Eiji says nothing.

Virgilius paces around the room. “I’ve considered the possibility that the true mastermind is Krauss. The plan goes bad, but she keeps her mouth shut and runs away to join him in the forest. But it’s a stupid scheme. What does Krauss even get out of it? How many people did he intend to kill? Did he just go crazy like we’re saying Kinzo did?

“Not impossible, but it’s a boring theory. Functionally no different than just having Kinzo be the other culprit. That’s why the ‘true’ culprit, if one exists, has to be someone else.”

“Well,” Eiji leans back in the seat, “that means it has to be ‘the man from nineteen years ago’, right?”

“Seems reasonable enough, doesn’t it?”

Eiji runs his fingers across his face. His head is still a mess. All he can think about is how Erika would’ve looked as a skeleton. “Yeah, I guess so.” he agrees, half-heartedly. “I mean, what other options are there?”

“Well, you’re wrong.” Virgilius says. “It’s not reasonable at all. In fact, it’s difficult to imagine anyone else being the culplrit.”

“…Huh? But you’ve literally been saying—”

“Even if we _assume_ she’s innocent, we’ve only had Natsuhi’s own beliefs that the ‘man from nineteen years ago’ was the one working against her. That suggests the threats were probably recent. But it also makes it clear she had no idea who this mysterious man was, otherwise she would’ve pinpointed them. She must’ve been threatened indirectly, you see? Either letters or phone calls. And both can be faked. All you need is one of the members of the family to find out about this tidbit from her past, and they could make her believe anything.”

“…Oh. That’s fair enou—".

“Except that’s completely wrong.”

“—What?! But—”

Virgilius sighs. “Reasoning only goes as far as you take it. It’s a chain that could go on forever. If you run out of things to add to it, or just willingly refuse to add things to it, then any length can fit the size of truth. And if we ended it here, it would, maybe, look good enough for the truth.

“We’re still building the chain, though, see? I suggested that the ‘man from nineteen years ago’ is the culprit. I made a counter-argument. But one measly counter-argument isn’t the end-all-be-all link. No link can be. Not until you get a confession.

“And, if we accept that link now, the chain will eventually break. The fact of the matter is:

“If the culprit isn’t Natsuhi, then it has to be the man who threatened her. That’s all that it comes down to.

“Motive is key. Consider. If there _is_ another culprit, your first assumption is that they intended to kill everyone, right? But that begs the question – after Natsuhi escaped: why weren’t there more murders? They had a perfect boogeyman to throw the murders onto!”

“Maybe they got cold feet or something?”

Virgilius chuckles. “After murdering seven people?”

“Okay, fine. I bow before your endless genius. Please transmit the correct information into my small brain.”

The detective shakes his head. “For an actor, you’ve got no imagination.”

“Guess that’s why I’m not one. That, or because I’m still half-drunk. You tell me.”

“The only thing I’ll tell you is the obvious: since no murders happened after Natsuhi was cornered, it means that Natsuhi getting cornered was the main goal in and of itself. The murders existed specifically to frame Natsuhi.”

“Or Kinzo.” Eiji suggests.

But Virgilius shakes his head. “No. It had to have been Natsuhi when you consider the killings themselves.

“For the first set of murders, almost everyone had at least two other people vouching for them at the time Doctor Nanjo approximated the deaths happening. While that was probably a coincidence, I don’t think Natsuhi not having an alibi was.

“But the real key is Hideyoshi’s murder. At the time of his death, everyone was with each other, except Hideyoshi and Natsuhi. His body was found in a locked bedroom with the chain set on the inside. When the body was found, the door was broken down and the room searched – searched everywhere but the closet, that is. And it’s in that closet that a button from Natsuhi’s dress was later found.

“If you assume Natsuhi is innocent, and you take into account this ‘man from nineteen years ago’ that she so feared, then the only explanation for her being in that closet is that she’d been pressured by that person. I’ve already shown that the two were probably in communication. The culprit probably had her hide in the closet.

“Put that together, and the only conclusion is that the goal was to frame Natsuhi.”

“Okay. Sure. I can see that.” the other man concedes. He doesn’t want to, but he does.

“…But that line of thinking gives you quite a few issues. Who, among the survivors, would actually have anything to gain from that? The only person who fits the bill would be that child. Natsuhi herself made it clear everything about it, after all, was handled in absolute secrecy. I’d even go far as to say it’s unlikely a relative of the maid who died with the child could’ve been involved.

“It had to have been the child itself.

“Now, the process of elimination makes it simple, doesn’t it? Natsuhi said the child was a boy. It had to have been around nineteen years of age. And it had to have been dropped off a cliff.

“So, we can eliminate all of the Ushiromiyas. The closest ones to fit the pattern are either George or Battler. Among the servants, the only one who fits is Kanon – this, er –” Virgilius checks his notes, “—Yoshiya. Those three.”

The name sounds strangely familiar to Eiji, but there’s more important things to get to.

“Wait. Wait, wait.” his headache is getting no better, either, but he’s still managing to keep a grasp on Virgilius’ line of thought. “Hang on. Don’t you have another early stopper here? All of this is fine and dandy, but how exactly are you gonna suspect any of them if everyone has a solid alibi for the murders? And, if Natsuhi didn’t do it, isn’t Hideyoshi’s death effectively a locked room mystery?”

Virgilius spreads his arms. “I welcome a challenge.”

Eiji grimaces. “It wasn’t a—”

“The murders in the guesthouse are incredibly straightforward when you consider the facts.” the other says. “First, when everyone has an alibi, the best way to attack the problem is to find a way in which nobody has an alibi. You need to look at what gave an alibi to everyone in the first place, and that was Doctor Nanjo’s estimation on the time of death – obviously, he lied.”

“Just like that, huh.” Eiji realizes the bitterness slipped out a bit too late. Might as well keep it going, then. “You know, it’s funny how, in your world, when something doesn’t immediately work, you can just make it work.”

“Have I not, just moments ago, demonstrated how I take every possibility into account? Don’t be a child.” Virgilius’ face darkens. “Don’t make this about her again, because I won’t care to listen. Not when we’re getting to the good part.”

Eiji shifts in his seat. “I’m not making this about—"

“You’re trying to pick a fight.” Virgilius points out.

“I’m just not comfortable with you casually accusing people of taking part in mass-murder."

“Would you have me do it through sweat and stuttering?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“It’s a thought experiment. I have no horse in this race.” The detective grins. “Besides, you’re the one who first suggested the survivors all being a pack of liars, aren’t you? The one who said they threw away Erika’s body into the sea out of convenience?”

“That’s—”

“Extremely hypocritical, I agree.”

Eiji’s mouth clams shut.

Virgilius shakes his head. “…It IS easy, isn’t it? To construct a whole narrative and have reality shape to it. Any unknowns just become spaces to fill up with convenience. It’s so easy you might be unable to tell which parts came from your imagination and which parts came through cold logic. The line gets thinner and thinner.

“You think she would’ve approved, Eiji?”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?”

The detective’s amused expression fades away. “Only because you keep forcing me to be one. I can’t will her into existing any more than you can. The whole reason I even started to so ‘casually’ explain this to you is to show you I’m actually NOT leaving a stone unturned, and this is how you thank me?

“And, for the record, even if I AM making assumptions, the gap here is so small the leap might as well just be a step. As I said, you just need to consider the facts, and you’ll see Nanjo is the most reasonable option.

“For the ‘man from nineteen years ago’ to be the culprit, he needs to survive the drop from the cliff. To survive the drop from the cliff, he needs someone to find him. When someone finds him, he needs immediate medical attention. And, on a private island, the only physician that does the job is Doctor Nanjo.

“Therefore, Doctor Nanjo knows that the child survived. He had to have also known, at the very least, what happened to him. When Natsuhi confessed, he said nothing, though. That tells you he’s covering for him. And what better way to do that than lie about the time of death for the first set of killings?”

“Enough.” Eiji covers his ears. “Enough! I don’t care! Stop this!”

“You first. If you want to feel responsible, fine, but don’t keep dragging me into it.”

Eiji laughs. “Incredible! Incredible how I’m always the bad guy in these discussions. Even though you’re the one constantly hiding even an inkling of a trail on what happened to her, in spite of the fact we agreed you wouldn’t, time and time again.

“It’s funny how it’s always for my good, but I always eventually find out and the part that makes me feel bad is ALWAYS that you hid it.

“It’s funny how you always know to go and drag me back to the office when I get drunk, instead of letting me take one day – one measly day – to myself, as if I’m supposed to be grateful. As if I’m too stupid to get back to my own place and just move on the next day.

“The absolute funniest part is that you make it sound like my every waking moment is about her! But isn’t – and you know it isn’t! This has happened once a year at most. But here I am, being made out to be some kind of a dumbass, who can’t keep my shit together. Nevermind the fact I have and always have done my job here. That’s why you’ve kept me. It’s not pity. You don’t feel pity.”

“You’re—”

“—And the times I can’t get to the phone are usually because of a random errand you’ve sent me on, not because I’m sleeping at the wheel.

“Nobody fucking calls, anyway!

“And yeah, you’re right, I _am_ a hypocrite. And I see that. And you’re right – she wouldn’t have approved. And I’m sorry I even suggested the thought of them somehow covering up Erika’s presence. And I – I wish you would’ve just told me that immediately instead of – of… what even is this? What is my benefit here? We aren’t even talking about Erika anymore. This is just to appease your own big brain, and my job is to sit here, nod along, and if I ever don’t do that, well – shit – I guess _I_ didn’t take the time to consider how it was benefitting me!”

Virgilius lifts the needle of the record player.

“As I was saying,” he clears his throat, “Nanjo being an accomplice for the first set of—”

“Fuck you!”

Eiji leaps out of the chair, slips on the puddle of water at his feet, and falls to the floor.

He doesn’t move after that.

“Hm.” Virgilius places the vinyl back in its jacket, strolls over to Eiji, makes sure he’s still breathing, and goes to pick out the next record to play.

“Still, Eiji,” he muses, “you have a point. I might be too rash in accusing the doctor. I’m still convinced he’s hiding something – more than the others – but it’s tough to see a family physician be so willing to go along with the whole scheme.

”Even if he was close to the culprit after saving his life, there’s a difference between ‘I want to get back at the woman who killed me’ and ‘I want to murder a lot of people; children first and foremost.’

“You got me. You got me good.”

Eiji is unconscious.

“But he _had_ to have been a part of it. There’s no other way to explain the first set of murders. Unless he made a mistake. But – no. He’d gotten to examine five corpses. Make the same mistake five times, and it might as well have been intentional.”

Eiji is unconscious.

“How would have anyone convinced him to go along with it…? And to keep his mouth shut for so long…? There had to have been something else. Don’t you think?”

Eiji is unconscious.

“I do have an explanation… But I’m willing to admit it’s just a complete leap.” It’s a leap that he likes, though. He likes it a lot.

Eiji is still, in fact, unconscious.

“Well, then. Let’s say that I have an explanation for Nanjo going along with the scheme. He’s culpable, but by having his good intentions taken advantage of.

“As for your other question, there was nothing much to Hideyoshi’s murder to begin with. When you consider the chain of events, the outcome is obvious enough. And if you don’t like the obvious explanation, this explanation for the first set of murders makes things work out well enough here, too.

“Now, which one of them is it…?”

Battler. Kanon. George.

It’s a thin pool.

And the truth of the matter is, Virgilius decided on which of the three it probably was the moment he laid the names out.


	6. Polite Fiction

_PAST / 1986_

_‘This couldn’t have gone worse.’_

The words ring through Battler’s head. They’ve been ringing for hours now. With each tick of the grandfather clock, it feels like they grow louder and louder. When did it start?

When Grandfather disappeared?

_‘This couldn’t have gone worse.’_

When Uncle Krauss did?

_‘This couldn’t have gone worse.’_

When they found Uncle Hideyoshi’s body?

_‘This couldn’t have gone worse.’_

When Aunt Natsuhi jumped through the window?

_‘This couldn’t have gone worse.’_

…No.

No, the bells started ringing long before any of that. Faint as they were, and as much as he’d like to believe otherwise, he did hear them, even as early as that. Of the many things that have gone wrong on this island, the absolute worst one – funnily enough – he should’ve seen coming.

He leans back in his seat, trying to rest his cheek against his hand. He needs sleep. He’s begging for it. He’s perfectly happy to simply pass out here and now, as long as nobody disturbs him. It’s his only chance; his only hope that he’ll wake up to something better.

_‘This couldn’t have gone worse.’_

Maybe it’s those words; a constant reminder of what he’s done. Maybe it’s the cold steel of the ring of the Ushiromiya family head he feels against his cheek. Maybe it’s the sorry sight of the remaining adults still, incredibly, arguing about what to do with the gold. (Maybe trying to undermine each other is their way of dealing with grief?)

Whatever the cause is, it’s a certainty that Battler won’t be getting any sleep.

“We’ll need Krauss’ connections to cash the gold in.” Eva says. “Battler might be the new head, but the chances of those people being willing to deal with him are next to none.”

Rudolf grins. “If that’s the best you’ve got, it sounds like we’re gonna have to find some friends – and fast. ‘Cause Krauss is either dead or just as crazy as his wife.”

“Or run off to the Moon.” Kyrie looks to the ceiling. “Frankly, I think we’ll have to think on the short-term for the time being. Our first goal should be to hide the gold from the police. With Natsuhi running off into the forest, they’ll no doubt search the island. We have to take steps to make sure they don’t find the underground passage.”

“I’m worried about the servants, too.” her husband says. “How do we explain that Battler here got made the family head before the shit hit the fan, exactly? They’re gonna mention it to the police. And if we don’t have an answer, the whole pack of us are gonna look suspicious. We don’t really have much of a strength in numbers.”

“I had some ideas about that.” This is Aunt Eva. “We could still tell the police he solved the epitaph and earned his position. The servants probably suspect that’s what happened, anyway. All we need to do is pretend the solution is something else.”

“And if someone knows the real solution?” Kyrie asks. “Or can, at the very least, prove the epitaph is tied to gold?”

“Like who?” the other woman tilts her head. “Nobody here has told anyone else, right? The only one likely to have known is – was – Genji. Doctor Nanjo doesn’t strike me as someone Father would have confided something like that in. And if he was, I’m certain a good portion of that gold would be missing right about now.”

Kyrie raises her index finger. “You’re forgetting about Beatrice.”

“That letter?” Rudolf’s brow raises. “I mean, that was probably Dad, right?”

“That’s precisely my point.” Kyrie leans forward. “Kinzo is a massive problem. He’s still probably running around the island. If the police find him, he could spill the whole thing about the gold. Same goes for Natsuhi.”

Rudolf clicks his tongue. “Well, there’s not a whole lot we can do about them.” He blinks. “Besides shooting them. Or moving the gold somewhere else.” He pulls out his pack of cigarettes. “But if you’re thinking I’m hauling tons and tons of gold, you can go fuck yourselves.”

“We could always bribe the servants to help out.” Kyrie suggests.

Eva scoffs. “And trust them to keep silent? I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of spending the rest of my life stuck in perpetual blackmail by a pack of leeches.”

“They wouldn’t do that.” Battler says, suspecting that probably isn’t true for at least one of them. He doesn’t care.

The three turn to him, a look of surprise painted across their faces. It’s as if they’ve forgotten he’s even here.

Kyrie crosses her legs. “As much as I’d love to have faith, Eva has a point. Even if they have no intention of betraying us now, their situations may change later down the line. Or, even worse, they may end up doing it unintentionally. Imagine if we bribed them, and they went ahead and started to spend their money recklessly? It’ll draw attention of people, questions will be asked, and the answers will lead straight to us.”

Battler rubs his eyes. “Right.”

He stands up.

“Oi, oi.” Rudolf lights his cigarette. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Gonna check if the mansion’s still locked up tight. I’m not putting too much stock in those boards and the broken window, either.” the family head answers. “Probably a good idea to call the guesthouse, too. Make sure everything’s alright with the servants.”

“Be careful.” Eva warns him, but doesn’t stop him. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise him.

After all, if he gets ambushed and killed, one could argue the line of succession would have the family head ring circle back to her.

He shakes his head. He hates that such a cruel thought would pop into his head.

The bells ring again.

_‘This couldn’t have gone worse.’_

The clock keeps ticking.

_‘This couldn’t have gone worse.’_

Why does it feel like time has stopped, then?

***

The sight of Hideyoshi’s body puts him at an extraordinary sense of unease. Just like he’d done when they found the body, he can’t help himself but checking for a pulse. Obviously, he has no more luck than he did the first time. The man is dead.

Battler can’t help but laugh at himself. Of course he’s dead. Even an idiot would’ve been able to tell as much just by looking at him – his limp body lies against the foot of one of the beds, with a decorative stake lodged deep into his back. A look of anguish has been permanently engraved on his face.

The family head looks around the bedroom. It doesn’t seem to have been disturbed since the discovery.

The only window is still locked firmly from the inside. The shutters are set, too, meaning nobody could’ve simply removed a glass pane or something to manipulate it from the outside.

The chain was cut by Gohda. Battler remembers considering some trickery there – for instance, the chain could’ve been long enough to be set from the outside. Nobody would’ve been paying that much attention to the possibility in the rush of things. Later on, the culprit could’ve snuck in and simply made one of the cut-off sections shorter to make the illusion complete.

And if that’s the case, it’s a trick now impossible to prove.

He turns on his heel. There aren’t many options for hiding places. They checked under the beds when they found the body. Nobody hiding behind the door, either.

The only place left was the closet.

Why had nobody searched the stupid closet…?

Unsatisfied, but without much else to do, he goes downstairs. Wandering aimlessly, he eventually finds himself in front of the portrait of the great witch Beatrice.

“…This is all my fault, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

The witch does not respond.

His fist squeezes. “I should’ve never come back here.”

“You can blame yourself until the end of time. And you’re free to do so, but I’m afraid we’ve got bigger problems right now.”

Battler jumps at the sudden presence in the room.

“—Stop sneaking up on me like that.” he tells the newcomer.

“Being unnoticed until it’s too late is one of my strengths, I like to believe.” Kanon smiles.

Battler scratches the back of his head. “How’d you even get in here? You’re supposed to be in the—”

The servant dangles an object in front of the other man’s face. “Genji’s master key. For all your talk, you Ushiromiyas really are an incompetent bunch, aren’t you?”

The two move to the servants room. With only three other people (presumably) in the mansion, they can afford a lower level of discretion than usual.

“How’re you feeling?” Kanon asks.

“Where are the others?” Battler, however, cuts straight to the chase. “They should’ve showed up hours ago.”

“…Those would be the bigger problems.” Kanon grimaces. “I’ve searched the guesthouse top to bottom, but there’s no sign of them. I don’t think they ever came back since leaving.”

“Oh, shit.” Battler clutches his head. “Oh, shit! You don’t think Gramps actually—?!”

“I saw Genji a little after you jumped out of Kinzo’s study. He told me they’d be back by six at the latest. I gave them some extra food just in case. Everything seemed to be fine.” He places his hand on Battler’s shoulder. “Relax. They definitely left on their own.”

Even so—

_‘This could, and just has, gotten much worse.’_

“We can’t have them on their own with – with Natsuhi running around there! And God knows where the hell Gramps has actually been this entire time.” Battler grits his teeth. “Let’s just go to the chapel.”

“Do you think I wouldn’t have stopped on my way here?” the servant almost looks offended. “They’re not there. None of them are.”

A cold chill runs through the family head’s body. Those hushed swears soon turn into unintelligible rambles. He begins to tremble.

Kanon leads him to the sofa. “Breathe. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“They were supposed to be there at six. But it’s been over nine hours and they’re not here, don’t tell me everything will fucking be fine!” Battler buries his head in his hands. “Dammit! Why did we ever do something this stupid?! Even if they’re actually all fine, we should’ve come clean after what happened to Uncle Hideyoshi! When Jessica finds out what happened to her mom, she’s going to kill us! This is all our fault!”

“In fairness, she was always going to kill us.” Kanon remarks.

“And George… George doesn’t even know his dad’s dead…!” Struck with a sudden thought, Battler looks back up to the servant. “…Did you kill him?”

Even in the dark, you can’t miss the surprise on the servant’s face. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Uncle Hideyoshi. Did you kill Uncle Hideyoshi? It was the perfect chance to frame Natsuhi! If—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was with you from the moment he left to when we found his body, you idiot!” Kanon hisses back. “Get a grip! Why would I want him, of all people, dead?! Why would I want _anyone_ dead?! The whole point of this ‘game’ was to avoid having to do something as extreme as that!”

Battler sees the image of his aunt jumping through the window. “One way or another, we definitely failed in that regard.” He doesn’t know what to do. Where does he go? What are his options? Does he come clean? Is it already too late? “…You’re sure they were all alive this morning, right?”

“You were literally the person who put all that fake blood on them. You tell me.” Kanon clicks his tongue. “But, for your information, I did check with the good doctor. He assures me they were perfectly fine when he examined them.”

“What the hell happened, then?!”

Kanon cups the other man’s face in his hands. “Listen to me. There’s five of them. George and Jessica know how to fight. I’m sure Genji’s seen his own fair share of action. What is a cut-up middle-aged woman supposed to do against them?”

“There’s also Gramps. And Uncle Krauss.”

“We’ve been over this. Kinzo probably died months ago. You saw the state of that study. Nobody’s been using that place in a while. I got suspicious when they had Genji bring his meals. As for Krauss,“ Kanon sits next to Battler, “I’ll admit I’m a bit concerned about that. Not about him attacking our five, just about what happened to him in general.

“I’ve heard rumors that there’s a secret mansion on this island. Kinzo used it to house his mistress – our dear Beatrice. Lately I’ve had this idea that Krauss has been housing one of his own there. So, when he wasn’t around this morning, I figured he was just slow at returning from a night call. But I don’t know what to think now.”

“The six chosen by the key.” Battler sighs. “He was the sixth.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” the other man spits. “I had nothing to do with Krauss disappearing. I didn’t think he HAD disappeared, understand? I am many things, but I am no murderer. Understand that.”

Battler says nothing. It’s true that Krauss disappearing had conveniently fulfilled The First Twilight. However, the original plan had been for Kanon to be sixth. When Krauss still hadn’t turned up after everyone gathered in the guesthouse, they figured they might as well take advantage of the situation and add him up instead.

“…Sorry.” Battler resigns. “It’s just… The wheels of this thing came off a while ago, haven’t they?”

Krauss is probably dead. Is the same true for his cousins?

“We have to go find them.” he tells the servant.

“I know. But it’s the height of the storm.” the other reminds him.

“All the more reason! We can’t just leave them to wander around out there!”

“We can’t afford to get lost ourselves, either.”

“We won’t.”

“You’re right. We won’t. YOU will, though. Because you’re insane enough to wander off into the woods screaming their names.”

Battler looks at his hand. “Haven’t you heard? The insanity comes with the territory.”

“Yes, well, until you liquidate the gold, your territory isn’t particularly big. So how about we follow reason a bit longer, hm?” Kanon walks to the window. “I suggest we go back to the chapel. My search wasn’t thorough. There might be a clue as to where they wandered off.”

Battler rises to his feet. “We should’ve checked up on them sooner.”

“Assign punishment only when the crime is known.” The servant slides his hands into his pockets. “As I said. I’m sure they’re okay.”

“You don’t really believe that.” Battler tells him.

He doesn’t reply.

***

The two men run through the storm. Although each one carries their own umbrella, the wind is forcing them to stick close to each other. Not that the umbrellas are proving to be much help, anyway – mere moments after leaving the mansion, they found themselves soaked from head to toe.

“Who do you think killed Uncle Hideyoshi?” In spite of the downpour, Battler’s words can still cut through to the other man.

“What? What are you talking about? It’s Natsuhi. She did exactly what we expected her to.”

“She was supposed to attack someone, not kill them!”

“…I didn’t know she had it in her.” Kanon merely says.

It’s not a lie. After sending Natsuhi to hide in the closet, Kanon suggested to Hideyoshi to go and take a moment to himself in the same bedroom. Natsuhi was supposed to get the wrong idea and attack him, thinking he was an accomplice or the caller himself. He might not have been the most fit, but he should’ve been able to stand up to Natsuhi.

It couldn’t have been a simpler chain of events:

Natsuhi’s restrained, caught-red handed, breaks down, admits her sin, and the fake victims come out stage left.

—Evidently, things never quite go as planned.

“We pushed her too far.” Battler says.

Kanon pretends not to hear.

***

Being halfway between the guesthouse and the mansion, it takes them about ten minutes to reach the chapel.

“Please be in there…” Battler prays.

That, perhaps, is the cue fate needed to begin the final stage of this tragicomedy.

The moment they place their feet on the chapel steps, they see a flash through the glass of the door. They freeze, momentarily confused – not by the flash – but by the loud noise that accompanied it.

“Thunder?” Battler wonders.

The alarm on Kanon’s face, however, tells him the servant’s already ruled that possibility out.

They rush inside.

“Hello?!” Battler shouts into the darkness of the chapel. “Is any—Mmf?!”

Kanon places his hand over his master’s mouth, pulling them both between the pews. “You’re the only one stupid enough to hear a gunshot and then go around asking to be shot in the face, aren’t you?!” he whispers.

Battler breaks free. “I’m scaring the shooter off!”

“With what?! You’re unarmed!”

“Well, he doesn’t know that!” Battler peeks out. “Besides, I’ve got an umbrella.”

“Oh, well, carry on then, I’m sure that’s—”

Battler jumps to his feet. “Hey! Who’s there?!”

Kanon sighs. “We’re dead.”

Yet, in the minute of silence that follows, Battler’s head remains intact. No loud bang. No flash. Only the darkness of the chapel.

And the dripping.

Drip.

Drip.

Kanon gets up, as well. “What is that?”

Battler peers further ahead. “Wait a minute. There’s someone sitting in the front row, isn’t there?”

Drip.

Drip.

A part of them knows what’s waiting. They don’t know what it is, they don’t know how it looks like, and they don’t know why it’s happening – but they’re already feeling the pain.

The pain swells in Battler’s chest. The worst, he knows, is yet to come – but is this going to be it? Every step he takes towards the altar feels like it might be his last. Wouldn’t that be nice? If he just tripped right now and fell off into a different world? Maybe whoever fired that gunshot is still around after all and is just waiting to get a better angle.

All throughout this, the bells keep ringing. Louder than ever.

The melody is a bit different now, though.

_‘You’re responsible for all this.’_

They reach the front.

“No.” The word slips out of Kanon’s mouth. “Oh, no.”

The umbrella falls from Battler’s hand.

He leaps to the body of Jessica, whose body lies limp in the seat. A large red spot has formed around her abdomen. Neither of them realizes it’s actually a hole – the guts have been sprayed onto the rows behind her. Nor do they realize the blood is still squirting out, dripping onto the wooden bench, and from the bench to the floor.

Drip.

Drip.

“Jessica!” Battler is shaking the poor girl’s shoulders. “Jessica! Wake up! Hey! Hey, it’s me! Wake up!” He looks around. “K-Kanon! Get Nanjo! Get him right now!”

But Kanon doesn’t move. He simply stares into the girl’s frozen, empty eyes, and the dried trail of tears on her cheek.

“She’s dead.” his voice cracks as he makes the declaration. “She’s dead, Battler…!”

“No! Don’t say that! She’s—Shit! No! No, no, no! Gaaah! It wasn’t supposed to be like this! This is all wrong! Fuck! Fuuuuck! Why? Why did this happen?!” He looks to the servant. “Tell me! What the fuck is going on?! Why is she dead?!”

“I don’t know!” Kanon’s limbs tremble. “I swear, I don’t know!”

Battler falls to his knees. “Damn it! Damn iiiit!”

***

Their spirits weak, their bodies numb and their step trembling, the two set off down the path to the guesthouse.

“…Don’t tell them.” Kanon says.

“Don’t tell them?!” Battler grabs the servant by the collar. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“They think she’s dead anyway. They’ve been dealing with the grief all day today. We shouldn’t bring Jessica back only to kill her again.”

“And Doctor Nanjo?!”

“We’ll bribe him with the gold. Now that Jessica’s dead, he’s effectively made himself an accomplice. It’s not in his best interest to tell anyone.”

“That’s it? That’s all you care about…?!”

“I’m trying to save us.”

“And what about the others, then?! George, Maria, Aunt Rosa and Genji?! What about saving them?! If Jessica’s dead, then—”

“—Then they’re likely dead, as well, Battler. There was nobody else in the chapel. They didn’t show up at the guesthouse. It’s likely they got attacked. Jessica managed to run away and tried to hide in the chapel. The killer found her and took her out.”

“Guh… Don’t… tell me that…!” Tears well in Battler’s eyes. “They can’t all be dead!”

“I’m sorry.” the servant says.

Battler pushes him to the ground.

Kanon doesn’t bother getting up. “It looks like we’ve underestimated Natsuhi yet again.”

“Shut up. Just… Gah, shut up!” the family head says, staring blankly at his feet.

Standing so carelessly outside is bound to get them killed. They found evidence of someone leaving through the chapel back door, just moments after they burst inside. That means that the killer is still running about. In the forest. In the darkness.

Waiting.

Killing.

Or—

“…Ha. Ha ha ha.” Battler can’t believe he’s laughing, but he is. “It’s useless. It’s all useless. You really think… I’m an idiot, don’t you… Kanon?”

The man on the floor doesn’t move. “What…?”

“You’ve been manipulating me from the start, haven’t you…? This ‘murder game’… It’s just been a way for you to conveniently take all of us out, hasn’t it…? And this whole thing with the chapel… is for my sake. To make me trust you. To make me think like you couldn’t have possibly killed her. After all… you were with me when we heard the gunshot, weren’t you…?”

“Battler—”

“But you killed her before getting to the mansion, didn’t you? That flash and noise we heard was just some kind of a timed firecracker or something. But in the heat of the moment, I bet you thought that’d be enough. I guess it was, wasn’t it…?”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“Gaaaah!” Battler jumps on the servant, wrapping his hands around the smaller man’s neck.

“Gngh! Buh… thl…”

“This is all your fault! Your fucking games! Your petty revenge! I came back to help you and you destroyed the only people here I gave a shit about! You used me as just a pawn!”

“Sh… Nh…!”

“I could kill you and throw your body in the ocean! How would that be for you, huh?! You think the police would even bother looking into you?! After I tell them the truth?!” He laughs. “Maybe I should throw you off the same ledge Natsuhi threw the baby off! How does that sound, huh?! Come on! Where are you bright ideas now?!”

Kanon’s resistance stops quite suddenly. He’s not dead. His windpipe still isn’t crushed. He still has a chance.

He merely stares at Battler.

The only thing he can offer is a look of surprise.

Or is it disappointment?

Battler’s face contorts. The tears form again. Have they even stopped?

His grip relaxes.

“I don’t know what to do.” he tells Kanon. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

Kanon, though dizzy and short of breath, manages to muster enough strength to pull himself up, wrapping his arms around the crying man.

“This is all our fault.” he manages to make at least that out from Battler’s wails and sniffs.

Unable to deny it any longer, he tightens his grip.

Even he, someone that has always thought of himself as a realist, has now found himself hoping that this long night will turn out to be nothing more than someone’s bad dream.

***

“I’m sorry.” He’s said it a million times now, and he’ll likely say it a million times more, but it’s not making him feel any better.

“It’s okay.” Kanon rubs his throat, hoping there won’t be any bruising. It’ll raise some uncomfortable questions during the police investigation, no doubt.

Now halfway to the guesthouse, they see someone approach them.

“Shannon!” Battler’s the first to notice.

The maid looks surprised – not so much at the sight of them, but their appearance. They’re soaked to the bone now, having forgotten their umbrellas in the chapel. Even so, they prove to be a sight for sore eyes.

“Is everything okay?” she asks. “We… heard a loud noise a little bit ago. It didn’t sound like thunder, so we… I… wanted to make sure nothing happened.”

The two men exchange a look.

“Everything’s fine.” Battler tells her. “Kanon checked up on us at the mansion, and I figured I should return the favor. Or I was just looking for an excuse to get away from the conference. Take your pick, heh.”

“We heard nothing odd, though.” Kanon makes sure to add.

“Ah, thank goodness…” she sighs. “A-Ah! But you’re—”

“I was dumb enough to think we could both fit under one umbrella.” Battler decides to cover. “I was even dumber to think the wind wouldn’t blow it away, heh heh.” He clears his throat, adjusting his composure. “I can’t believe it, though. Four people in that guesthouse hear a loud noise and their first instinct is to send out a teenage girl? On her own?”

“I volunteered.” she’s quick to note. “If it turned out something had happened in the mansion…” she shakes her head. “Well. Let’s not think about that. As long as everything’s okay.”

Battler breaks eye contact. “Just don’t be so reckless next time.”

“As long as there isn’t a next time.” she chuckles.

***

It quickly becomes apparent to Battler that the people staying at the guesthouse became completely reliant on Shannon’s presence at some point. Moments before the group entered the lounge, the whole place was covered in a deathly silence – one almost rivaling the one back at the chapel. Funny how even Kumasawa, a perpetuum mobile when it comes to gossip, now has nothing of interest to share with Gohda and Doctor Nanjo.

Of course, the moment the trio sees Shannon, Battler and Kanon, they come alive.

“S-Shannon!” Gohda beams. “I’m very happy to see you’re well.”

“No thanks to you.” Battler is quick to point out. “How could you let her head off there on her own?!”

“E-Eep!” The chef folds in an instant. “W-We told her not to go, but she was adamant! I-I mean, we’d have to be crazy to go out there! Especially after that gunshot!”

“I guess you’re lucky it wasn’t a gunshot, then.” the family head says. “Kanon and I just came from the main house, and everything’s fine there. So are all of you, luckily.”

“A-Ah…” Gohda relaxes, falling back into his seat.

“But that’s just it – luck. I had no expectations of Doctor Nanjo or Kumasawa, but you, Gohda, are more than capable of taking on guys twice my size, aren’t you? Or is all that muscle just for show?!”

“W-Well, Master Battler, I—”

Kumasawa chuckles. “Now, now, no need to be so harsh with him. I’m sure if push came to shove, he’d do whatever it took to protect us.”

Gohda’s back straightens. “Y-Yes. Yes! Of course! Naturally!”

“…Even if,” the old woman’s gaze darkens, “we were the ones needing to do the pushing.”

“I… don’t think I quite understand.” the chef admits.

Nanjo rubs his chin. “Oh, I believe I can picture it. The group of us, facing down the barrel of a shotgun, and you bravely jumping in the line of fire for us.”

“Or being pushed into it.” Kumasawa laughs.

“Or being pushed into it.” Nanjo notes.

“Th-This is—I—W-While I would b-be more than happy t-to take a bu-bullet f-for my fellow man, I—”

Shannon claps her hands. “Okay, everyone. That’s enough of that. I have no doubt that Mister Gohda is brave enough to tackle any demon that tries to face us. But it’s beside the point. I’m okay, and Master Battler and Kanon here are standing here, waiting to catch a cold.”

“Oh, dear. You’re right.” Kumasawa finally seems to notice. “I should—”

“No, no, don’t get up.” Battler tells her. “I’ve got some spare clothes upstairs.”

“…Are you sure you want to go up there?” Shannon asks. “I-I mean, that is—”

He puts his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

“As for me,” Kanon sniffs, “Doctor, I was wondering if I could have a word with you. I am feeling a bit light-headed and was wondering if you had something that could help me.”

“…Certainly.” Nanjo eyes the servant boy suspiciously, no doubt seeing through the flimsy excuse. “Let’s go to my room and take a look.”

To give Kanon credit, he had the foresight to make sure Doctor Nanjo had no idea about Battler having any part in the whole scheme. It will, no doubt, give him some credibility when presenting their discovery of Jessica’s corpse, his lack of involvement in it, as well as make the cover-up of it look like a family orchestration, instead of Kanon and Battler covering their tracks.

With the two excusing themselves, Battler heads off upstairs.

The first thing to catch his eye in the bedroom is, of course, the giant occult symbol painted on the wall. Battler hasn’t a clue what it means. It’s doubtful Kanon had, either. But it certainly added to the effect of ‘Beatrice’ they’d created the night before.

“So stupid.” he thinks to himself, rummaging through the closet for a spare set of clothes.

If the others are really dead, he thinks, then they should probably find their bodies. Not only to bury them, but to get some of their blood. The one on the sheets, after all, is fake. Should be fake.

Assuming Kanon is telling the truth.

Perhaps he and Doctor Nanjo had conspired to make the murders real from the start? Suppose that Kanon had betrayed him in another way – Shannon mentioned Jessica had a thing for him. Maybe it was reciprocated, after all? Then, all of the murders were actually real with the exception of Jessica, who ran away when she realized what Kanon had made her a part of? He then killed her in the chapel to keep her quiet.

Suppose that Kanon and Doctor Nanjo are now celebrating at the complete victory they’ve achieved? Suppose that they’re now moving onto stage two of their plan – killing everyone else? Or just killing Battler, the only other person who knows about the whole scheme?

It’s a sickening thought for Battler. But not one he can easily dismiss anymore.

Slipping into his spare suit, he goes to examine the sheets.

“…Bluh. How am I supposed to tell between real and fake blood?” Especially now that it’s long been dried?

As he’s about to leave, he notices something. The window to the room – it doesn’t look properly closed.

On further examination, the reason why becomes obvious: it’s broken. It looks like someone forced it from the outside.

Battler is certain it wasn’t in that condition when the ‘bodies’ were discovered that morning. What, then, does it mean? Has someone broken into the guesthouse? If they have, there’s no trail of water suggesting they got any further into the room. Unless it’s been dried.

But Kanon said he’d searched the guesthouse earlier, before leaving to meet Battler. In other words, if there was an intruder at that point in time, he would’ve found him. Since he didn’t, the intruder had to have broken in at some point after Kanon left. Water wouldn’t have dried in such a short amount of time. Meaning – if someone broke in, they never stepped in.

Assuming Kanon is telling the truth.

“Guh.” Battler clings to his head.

Of course, the fact that the window is broken still remains. If someone broke in, they likely did so during the day, and then left. Who was it? And why? Nothing in the room seems to be amiss. And what else of worth would be there to take?

“Unless…”

Unless Ushiromiya Kinzo broke in at some point early in the day, after the ‘bodies’ were found, and kidnapped everyone who slept in the room here.

But Kanon said he’d spoken to Genji and that things were fine.

—But what if Genji was the liar there? After all, an old servant would’ve maybe been loyal to their scheme, given that the child from nineteen years ago was Kinzo’s son, but he would’ve been more loyal to Kinzo himself.

What would that mean, then? That, against all odds, the accusation against Natsuhi might not have been far off from the truth, after all? That Uncle Hideyoshi’s murder may not have been an act of panic, but rather a sacrificial murder, pushed on by Kinzo? It’s always been a bit odd that she had the ceremonial stake on her to stab Uncle Hideyoshi with.

“Or maybe I’m just looking for an excuse.” Battler murmurs, leaving the room, more unsure of himself than ever.

***

“And none of you left the guesthouse?” Battler asks once everyone’s gathered back in the lounge. “Until you heard the loud noise, I mean?”

“Besides a few trips to the bathroom, none of us left the lounge, period. And those didn’t last for more than a few minutes.” Nanjo says.

“And we were all here when we heard the noise.” Shannon adds.

“Wh-Why are you asking us this? It wasn’t a gunshot, right?” Gohda doesn’t seem to be accepting of the casual questioning.

“Probably wasn’t.” Battler shrugs. “But it’s important to make sure you’re all accounted for. Just in case it WAS a gunshot, but the person on the other end wasn’t one of us. As much as I hate to say it, I wouldn’t put it past Gramps sneaking on a whole cult to watch us suffer.”

Battler thinks it’s a good excuse.

“A-A-A cult?!”

Evidently, Gohda thinks it’s good, too.

“Just an example, of course.” Battler crosses his legs. “We can’t afford to be careless. Especially since we don’t know when the police are gonna be arriving.”

“Ooh, how very boss-man-sounding of you, Master Battler.” Kumasawa chuckles.

“The ring must really change a man.” Shannon muses.

Well, if he’s going to spend the next decade being a puppet, he can at least take solace in the fact he isn’t giving the impression of being one.

“Aaah… But I do wonder about Madam Natsuhi…” Kumasawa’s eyes scan the room. “Poor woman… I still can’t decide if that whole story from nineteen years ago is true or not… I heard the stories, of course. About a maid here dying with a child in her arms, but I always thought it was more of a legend. To think it was Madam Natsuhi’s…”

The good doctor coughs. “I’m not sure this… is an appropriate topic of conversation.”

“Do you know anything about it?” Shannon asks.

The doctor blinks. “No. No, of course not. I’m afraid the poor woman must’ve been under some kind… delusionary state.” He’s really forcing himself to push the words out. His pride as a doctor is making things difficult here, but he’s playing along.

“I see…” Kumasawa sounds disappointed. “And here I had wondered about whose child it might’ve been. I didn’t think it was Madam Natsuhi’s… Between all of us, I’d heard she and Master Krauss ha—”

Nanjo coughs, very deliberately.

“—Ahem.” the old woman takes the hint. “I was sure it couldn’t have been Natsuhi’s. So the only other answer would be that it belongs to Master Kinzo and Beatrice, wouldn’t it? Hohoho… A child born between a human and a witch… I’m sure it would’ve survived a fall from any cliff…”

Shannon looks to her feet. “A child born between the worlds of humans and witches… To have the mind of a human but the body of a witch… I think that’d be horrible. Human beings aren’t made to handle the stress of immortality. They’d probably go insane…”

“Oh, I don’t think they would.” Kumasawa muses. “I think they’d just get bored of us all, hoho. That’s probably how you always end up with tales of evil wizards trying to destroy the world.”

“So, you think, if the child really did survive,” Battler’s eyes close, “he’d become a world ender?”

Nobody answers.

The family head gets up. “Well. Something to think about, then. Come along, Kanon. Pretty sure the old farts back at the mansion are starving. Might as well whip us up a snack, eh?”

Kanon is expressionless. “…Of course.”

***

On the road between the guesthouse and the chapel, the two don’t exchange a single word.

“I’ll take care of… Lady Jessica.” Kanon says simply, wandering off to the door.

“Wait,” Battler interjects, “let me—”

“They’ll get suspicious if you’re not around for too long.” the servant tells him. “Trust me. I’ll take care of this.”

Kanon pauses. “You do trust me, don’t you, Battler?”

“I’m—” How does he answer that now?” “—I’m not sure.”

“…I see.” the other man says, gives a light bow, and disappears in the darkness of the chapel.

***

“Where the hell have you been?” Rudolf asks the moment Battler steps back into the dining room.

“I went to check up on the servants. Got a bit wet and had to get a change of clothes.” The heir can’t help but emphasize the disinterest in his voice. “I’m assuming I didn’t miss anything?”

“Now ain’t the time to be a brat.” his father reminds him. “Especially not when we don’t know what’s out there.”

“Right. Sure.” Battler moves to the head of the table. “By the way, nobody happened to hear anything odd while I was gone, did they?”

Eva raises her brow. “Odd? Like?”

The head of the family chuckles. “Doesn’t seem like you did, then.” He leans back in his seat. “Well? Where were we?”


	7. Trade

_PAST / 1986_

And yet, strange as it has all proven to be – the scheme, the scheme’s failure, the gunshot, the dead girl in the chapel – the strangest thing is the one nobody seems to have noticed. And not for the lack of ‘the thing’s trying. It’s shouted, it’s waved, it’s even tried to touch the inhabitants of Rokkenjima, only to have its hand completely pass through the flesh and fabric keeping them all whole.

‘It’ has a hand? Of course it does. Hard as it might be to see clearly, with ‘it’ wandering through the rose garden in the middle of the downpour’s harshest haze – ‘the thing’ is entirely human. A man. Or, as he is now beginning to suspect, something closer to a ghost of one. But a man nevertheless; and – as is the nature of all men – he continues to hit his head against the same brick wall, hoping something will eventually give. He screams in Battler’s ear through the entirety of the latter’s walk to the main house. He even tries punching and kicking. As before, his limbs simply pass through the unsuspecting man’s. Neither willpower nor force are proving to be the core ingredients here.

At this rate, the only thing this head-banging will break, evidently, is the mysterious man’s own skull.

Now left alone in the rain once, he considers the alternative. Perhaps these people are, in fact, the ghosts? These are, after all, clearly past events. He’s recognized almost all of the faces from studying the case files. He knows that the parts these faces are playing must be those of the incident. These are the juicy parts, too – the ones that never made it into the reports. The ‘conspiracy’ that the man has always suspected had always been at the heart of the matter.

Perhaps the island is showing him fragments of what once was? Perhaps it has looked deep into this man’s soul and found his withered desires to find out the whole truth of the horrific matter? Has it chosen to grant him this miracle?

An interesting thought. But not one that answers the core question:

How did he, Shiratori Eiji, find himself on Rokkenjima after jumping from the fifth floor of his apartment building?

“…Guess I’m dead.” he throws it out there – the overgrown thought would’ve likely made his head burst if he didn’t. Of all the ways to go, the one he picked is no doubt an underwhelming one. He barely started looking into Virgilius’ murder.

He realizes he should’ve seen it coming. If the killer held a grudge against the agency as a whole, there was a real chance that Eiji himself was in the line of fire. The possibility simply never crossed his mind. After all, most clients generally saw him as a coffee boy.

It seems he’s now got an eternity to regret that lack of foresight.

“At least I went out on my own terms.” he says, admittedly unsure if he can really call dying the way he did ‘going out on his own terms.’ However, dying immediately on impact is still, he decides, probably better than taking a shotgun blast and possibly living for a few extra seconds.

In that sense, he can at least say he didn’t give his assailant the satisfaction.

He can say it, but he doesn’t – given that the mysterious woman is no doubt happy just seeing him dead. The ‘he must die by my hand and my hand alone’ cliché barely works in movies, let alone in real life.

“Is this hell, then?” Eiji asks nobody in particular.

Receiving no answer, he grows annoyed and searches his pockets for his pack of cigarettes.

It’s nowhere to be found.

He sighs. “Hell it is.”

“Closer to purgatory.” Through the rain, and the thunder and even his own jagged breath, a voice reaches Eiji. “It largely depends on who you ask, though.”

In the darkness of the rose garden, he sees what he feels he should’ve noticed ages ago. Just how long has she been leaning against the metal fence, watching him? Long enough to get that amused look on her face, no doubt.

It’s a face he recognizes, too.

Blonde hair. Deep, empty eyes. The only thing that’s really different between her and the Golden Witch in the portrait is the western dress – or, rather, the former’s lack of it. This one is wearing a black kimono. He recognizes it to be a _mofuku_.

It this could just be Eiji’s eyes playing tricks on him, yet, in spite of the rainfall, not a single drop of water seems to have stained it.

“Greetings, Shiratori Eiji. I am Beatrice, the Witch of the End.” she bows lightly. “Welcome to my island.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “…Sorry to intrude?”

“Not at all. Your presence here was entirely expected.” Beatrice looks to the sky. “Horrible weather, isn’t it? You must be freezing.”

“Not any warmer indoors, for some reason.” His hands have been conditioned to go back and search for his pack of cigarettes. His pockets are, of course, still lacking them.

“Oh, no surprise there.” the witch tells him. “I’m not talking about the weather HERE. You’ve slipped in here in the brief moment between life and death. You’re broken and bloodied, lying in the snow outside of your apartment building. It’s an exceptionally cold night. Some parts of your skin have already turned blue. A few minutes from now, a woman is going to walk outside with a shotgun and blow your brains out for good measure. And that’s how you’ll die.”

Eiji blinks. “I’m—not dead?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong.” The woman grins. “Your fate is a done deal. Unavoidable. You’re functionally as dead as a doorstop. The fall broke your neck – the nerves, too, I’m afraid. Even if you were to get out of here and open your eyes, you won’t be able to do much besides look around.

“And scream. You’ll be able to scream. Maybe.”

“…Hah.” Eiji can’t help but laugh himself. “I see. This is some kind of near-death hallucination.”

“I guess me saying this is all very much real wouldn’t convince you.” she sighs. “A hallucination would, after all, rarely admit they’re a hallucination.”

“Gives me some hope my neck isn’t actually broken, too.” he points out.

“Either way, you’re still knocked out. And even if you weren’t a vegetable, that woman is still coming down to finish the job.”

“Guess I better wake up, then.”

Beatrice clicks her tongue. “Oh, sorry. No. Nah. Nope. No can do. Afraid I need to keep you here for a little while.”

“What an annoying hallucination you are.” he tells her.

“Don’t worry, I tend to annoy people when I’m real, too.” She walks over to him. “For what little it means, in spite of you dying, you ARE going to live.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” he sniffs. “Being nonsense and all.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll understand when we’re done here.” Beatrice looks to the sky once more. “A wave has been sent from this place. It’ll reach that broken little body of yours soon enough. Wash eeeeeverything away.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Okay.” He clutches at his head. “Damn. Why am I taking all this so well?”

“Well, think of it this way.” The witch cocks her head. “You say this is a dream, right? The entirety of who you are is kept in your brain. Dreams happen in your brain. When you dream, your brain can’t crawl into itself to experience it, can it? So, it sends out a little part of you instead. That little part lacks the elements that make you entirely you.”

“…That sounds dumb.”

“It does, doesn’t it…?” she giggles. “I guess this must not be a dream, then.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say.” He grimaces. The treetops surrounding them suddenly feel like they’ve gotten denser. “Tell me, then, my hallucination, what do YOU say this is?”

The answer is simple and to the point: “It’s Rokkenjima. 1986.”

“So, what, you’re saying my soul has been transported back in time?”

“Soul. I like that. Yes! Let’s go with that.” She brings her hand to her chin. “I like ‘transported,’ too; implies some level of grace. Much better than imagining me yanking you here.”

He looks to the dimly-lit mansion. “You brought me here, then?”

“As I said. Your presence was entirely expected.”

“Why?”

“That’s very simple, Eiji.” Her face closes in on his. “I want to make you a proposition.”

“I’m not gonna like this, am I…?”

“Oh, there’s worse deals a witch can make. Mine is, I think, entirely fair:

“I want us to trade our left eyes.”

***

He blinks. Or maybe he winks, reflexively. He’s not entirely sure. “—What?”

“I want us to trade our left eyes.” the witch repeats.

“I heard you the first time, just—”

“Then what else is there to discuss?”

“Plenty! There’s plenty t—What does that even mean?! I pop my eye out, you pop yours, and we just part ways with the other’s eye in our pocket?!”

“Of course not.” Her smile is unbreaking. “We’d put them in the sockets.”

“Why would I agree to that?!”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll put you back where I found you. All nice and broken. You’ll look around. You’ll scream – maybe. And then you’ll get your head blown off. And die. And a few minutes after that, you won’t be. But you won’t be you. So you’ll basically be dead.”

He can’t help but laugh. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She shrugs. “Okay. Have it your way.”

Her hand is raised.

Her fingers snap.

Eiji’s mouth opens. “Wh—”

***

It’s cold. Everything’s blurry. There’s something in his mouth. He can’t open his eyes. Or are they already open? Is it night? He’s not sure. He can’t move. It’s cold, though. It’s definitely cold. He can hear something. From somewhere. Where is everyone? Where is he? It’s all a blur. Figuratively and the other thing – metaphorically? Or is that the same as metaphorically?

Something hurts. It’s his head. Or is it closer to numbness?

No – there’s definitely pain. It’s pulsing through his brain. It feels like his eyes are moments away from popping out of his skull. It’s excruciating. It must be, he concludes, the breathing. The breathing hurts.

—Is he even still breathing?

Why can’t he fucking see anything? Why is it all so blurry?

It’s cold. It’s so cold.

He doesn’t know it, but he feels it – tears have frozen on his cheeks. It hurts. Something. Maybe everything. He wants to scream, but his jaw is barely moving. It makes him want to cry. He’s crying.

What happened?

The window. The cat. The woman. The shotgun.

Or was it all the other way around? Or just in a different order?

It’s cold.

It’s so cold.

He’s going to die. Like this. Wherever this is. Why? What did he do to anyone? He never wanted to hurt anyone. But he did, and he knows he did, but he’s tried so hard – he really has – why now? Why like this?

Virgilius. Where is Virgilius? Virgilius will help him. Virgilius has always been there. He’ll save him. He’ll pick him up and drop him off at the office like he used to. He’ll save him. From whatever this is.

The woman. The shotgun.

Everything hurts.

Where is everyone?

Why is it so blurry?

Virgilius? Is that him?

Oh, God. Oh, God, he’s dead.

Erika—

Where is she?

Erika—

Someone—

Don’t let him die like this—!

In the distance, someone snaps their fingers.

***

Back in the rose garden. Beatrice. The girl in the chapel. Virgilius. The cat. The elevator. Ushiromiya Battler. Rokkenjima. The shotgun. The window. The girl in the chapel. The blood. The gunshot. Here? There?

It hurts.

It’s cold.

Eiji falls to his knees.

He screams.

The witch reaches out to him. “Eiji—”

He slaps her hand away. “Get away! Get the fuck away!” He scrambles to his feet. “Oh, God. Oh, God—What is this? Am I really—? No. No, no, please no. No. I don’t wanna die. Please. Fuck. Fuck! Oh, God—”

The woman doesn’t so much as flinch. “Eiji.”

“I’m dreaming.” He shuts his eyes. “I’m dreaming. This is all a dream. I’m not dying. I’m not going to die. I’m in my bed. I’m in my bed.” Focus. Breathe.

“Eiji.”

“Shut up! Just—I’m—trying to focus here!” It isn’t real. It can’t be. It shouldn’t be. It’s not fair. He didn’t do anything to die like this. He can’t die. Not like this.

“Eiji.”

Not out in the cold, waiting to get his brains blown out by a complete stranger.

“Eiji.”

Not without finding out what happened to Virgilius.

“Eiji.”

Not without finding out what happened to Erika.

“Eiji!”

The witch slaps him across the face.

“Get a grip!” she orders him.

“Fuck you!” he does not obey. “Fuck you, fuck this island, fuck this fucking hallucination! Shit! Goddammit! Aaah!” What if this isn’t a hallucination, though? What if he’d actually seen the dead girl in the chapel. Ushiromiya Jessica, a real human of flesh and bone, a woman who has been deemed missing for years, has now been reduced to a pile of flesh in that little chapel. And he’s seen her. And he’s never known her. And even if he had the best intentions in the world, even if he’d known, he would’ve been powerless to stop it.

Because he’s a ghost.

He’s dead.

“What is this…? What the hell is this?! What do you want from me?!” he demands.

“I already told you. I want your eye.” she says.

“Screw you!”

Her hand is raised once more. “Shall I send you back?”

Eiji takes a step back. “No! No. Please. Please, just—I don’t know what this is. I think there’s been some mistake. I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. Please, just leave me alone. Please. I—” He looks over his shoulder. “I—”

“Eiji.”

He runs away.

Her hand remains in the air.

The snap never comes.

It can’t.

“Damn.” she murmurs.

She’s run out of time. Sending him back now would equal escape.

Slowly, she follows after him, thinking her options through.

***

It’s not a dream. It’s a hallucination. He doesn’t want to admit it, but in his heart of hearts, he knows it to be true. Whatever this is, it’s real. The rose garden is real. The storm is real. The Witch of the End is real. The body of Ushiromiya Jessica that he saw in that chapel was real.

Was.

Where the hell is it?

He’s standing in the chapel, in the exact same spot he first saw the body in. He couldn’t touch her, he couldn’t feel the cold on her skin, he couldn’t shake her like Battler had. But he felt the pain. He could almost swear he smelled the scent of blood in the air.

It’s gone now, though. The blood.

It’s like nothing even happened.

“Have you forgotten already?” The witch stands at the chapel entrance. “Kanon cleaned it up, like he said he would. If they’d just left it lying around there, it would’ve been found by the police, right? We can’t have that.”

“I told you to get away from me!” he yells.

“I remember there being a ‘please’ somewhere in there originally, too...” Beatrice murmurs.

“What do you want with my eye, anyway?!”

She sighs. “I’m sad you haven’t considered the benefits of having mine. It IS a trade, after all.”

“Answer the question!” Eiji demands.

“What can I say? The world is one big chessboard. And I wanna play. Or, rather, I _need_ to. Or, rather, I _will_. I am the Witch of the End, after all. I have seen the end and what lies beyond it. The outcome is already decided. I just need to ensure it. And to do that, I need to steer some events. I need to play. To play, I need at least a pawn. Even a poisoned one will do.”

He stares at her, horrified.

“—What the fuck are you talking about?! You’re crazy! Fuck off! I’m not giving you anything!”

The witch shakes her head. “I thought you’d matured a bit at this point in your life. Ah, well.” She moves into one seat rows. “I don’t know why you’re so aggressive. If I were you, I’d be grateful. I’ve basically saved you, you know.”

“I’m a little bit upset, okay?!”

“The worst part is, you haven’t even heard me out.” She sits down. “If you trade me your eye, I can bring you back.”

“I don’t believe you.” he says frankly.

“Aw. Why?”

“You’re literally a self-proclaimed witch.”

“Shouldn’t the ‘self-proclaimed’ part make me less intimidating?”

“Not when I’m a fucking ghost and you seem to hold the power of life and death over me!”

“I thought we agreed this was more your, ah, ‘soul’ being ‘transported’ back in time?”

“I don’t give a shit what we call it! It sucks either way!”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She leans back in the seat. “Sure would be nice to get out of here and back into your comfy bed.”

“Look, I’m not stupid okay? I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but I know a deal with a devil when I see one.”

“Oh, Eiji. You never learn, do you?” Beatrice chuckles. “If I really wanted that eye of yours, I would rip it out of your socket, put it in mine and kick you out of here. There would be nothing you could possibly do about it.

“But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt you, believe it or not. But your behavior has gone from understandable, to stubborn to downright annoying. You’re really forcing my hand here, Eiji. After the effort I’ve taken for you…” She shrugs. “I _will_ get that eye, Eiji. It’s not even a debate. I am the Witch of the End. I’ve—”

“Seen the end. Yeah. I get it.” He doesn’t. He can’t possibly. But something about this woman deeply upsets him. It’s not even a matter of pride or fear at this point. Like a cornered animal, his instincts are telling him that he’s facing someone much higher on the food chain. He needs to get away from her.

He needs to do it now.

The woman, however, seems to be reading his mind: “And where are you going to go, Eiji? You have no form, and you’re on an island that’s been isolated from the rest of the world. Be real, would you? The only way out is through me. And I want what I want.”

Eiji clenches his fist. Do Beatrices have some kind of a grudge against him? First one shows up and tries to kill him. Now this one’s offering the exact opposite – and still making herself the worse of the two.

Then again, who’s to say they’re not the same person to begin with? Maybe it’s all been an elaborate ploy to get him to fall to his death, so she could trap him here?

…That’s the scriptwriter in him talking.

“You’ve gone awfully quiet.” Beatrice notes.

“Just let me go.” he chooses to plead. He should run, but like a fool he chooses to plead. Behold, the sad little man.

For the first time, the witch’s smile fades away. “…Fine. Let’s have it your way, Eiji. I’ll give you a chance. One chance. And that’ll be that. Succeed, and I’ll let you walk away. Fail, and I’m taking your eye. And I won’t care what you have to say.”

“…What do I have to do?” It’s a trap. It has to be.

“We’ll play a little game. Your loss is already decided, of course, but I’m going to stop wasting my breath trying to make that clear to you.” She walks back to the isle. “Your goal is simple:

“Tell me who killed Ushiromiya Jessica.”

***

He laughs.

What else can he do?

Look at it all.

Eiji’s dead – or extremely close to being so. Virgilius is dead, too.

Eiji’s ended up in some kind of twisted limbo on Rokkenjima. Virgilius is probably in some version of his own hell.

And yet – in spite of that metaphysical distance – between realities, between death itself – somehow, _SOMEHOW_ , it feels like Virgilius is mocking him through an entirely different person. If that witch can even be called a ‘person’.

He never wanted to be one, but it appears his last acts – both in life and the one after – will be that of a detective. What is it about detectives that’s followed Eiji all his life? Maybe it’s the company he’s chosen to keep. The only people he ever had were mystery-obsessed siblings. He hates detectives. He loves them. Love. Hate. Doesn’t matter. Nothing does.

He’s going to lose his eye either way, apparently.

She says she’ll bring him back.

She’s lying.

What the real game here is, he can’t see. It’s not for him to see.

Maybe he deserves to lose an eye for that.

Ah, well.

Why not play, then?

Why not?

A younger version of him would’ve been offended. Would’ve been downright disgusted with the idea of playing with a dead girl’s fate as some kind of a game. But can the dead truly disrespect the other dead?

It’s the end of everything! Everything that has anything to do with him, anyway.

“…Fine.” he says. “You’ve made it clear I’m powerless here. How is this gonna work, exactly?”

“That’s more like it, Eiji. Very good!” The witch claps her hands. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you. Behind all the temper, you at least know when you’ve met with a higher force. A coward, but a coward that can eventually be reasoned with.”

“Thanks.” He desperately needs a cigarette. At least it doesn’t feel like it’s freezing anymore. “Answer the question, please?”

“…You will have five attempts. Five chances to give a cohesive explanation as to who killed Jessica and how. You’ve stuck to Battler since coming here, and I’d say you’ve seen most of the things necessary to form a reasonable conclusion.

“When you give a wrong theory – and you will – I will give you some kind of evidence or guarantee that shows why it’s wrong. You can use that information to build your next theory.”

“So, it might not necessarily be just about presenting the right theory from the get-go, but presenting a theory that might net me the most information?”

The witch shrugs. “Look at it however you want.”

“What do you mean by giving me a ‘guarantee’, though?”

“Well,” the witch circles around him, “not every possibility has a piece of evidence that can outright disprove it. And some theories can only be denied with evidence that outright points to the actual truth. And that’d make it too easy.

“It should be obvious, me being the master of the island and all, but I know who the culprit is and how they did it. That’s why I can flat-out tell you what did and didn’t happen, without any need to present the physical evidence to back it up.

“Let’s have it like this.” The air around the woman grows still. Even the dust freezes. As her lips continue to move, something seeps out of her mouth – blood? No. It fades as quickly as it appears. But it lingers in Eiji’s mind. That’s where the words are, etched forever in the same crimson they slithered in with. And the words say: “ **Everything I say in red is the truth.** ”

The witch coughs. “Ooh. It’s been a long while since I’ve gotten to use that. Thank you for this opportunity, Eiji. I mean it.”

“…You’re welcome.” He’s still searching through his pockets. And still, the smokes are not there. “Hey. Before we begin, do you think I could get a cigarette or something? It helps me think.”

“No.” the witch says curtly. “I detest smokers.”

“Okay. Well. I’m about to have my eye plucked out here. I’d think you could manage the inconvenience.”

“You could also stop being a chain smoker. Have you considered that?”

“Bit too late now. Being ‘functionally dead as a doorstop’ and all.”

Beatrice clicks her tongue. “You’re an awful guest.”

From her sleeve, she pulls out the long-needed box and throws it Eiji’s way. It’s his favorite brand, too.

“Thanks.” he says, earnestly.

“I’ve done you a lot of favors tonight already, you know. You’d think you could just give up the eye.” she pouts.

His teeth are already gripped on one of the cigarettes. “A second ago you were thanking me for giving you the opportunity to play.”

“I like the game. But the game is only as good as the person you play against.” she remarks.

“What makes you think I’m the subpar one?” His hands are once again helplessly following their instincts, searching for something he simply does not have on his person. “Um. Got a light?”

The witch rolls her eyes. With a snap of her fingers, the cigarette comes to life – the tip, unusually, is blue. So is the smoke that fills Eiji’s lungs.

Tastes like the usual, though. That’s good enough.

“To answer your question,” the witch grins, “I have no intellectual equal.”

“Humble, I see.”

“I wouldn’t be where I am if I was.” She hides her hands in her sleeves. “Now. I await your first move.”

Eiji closes his eyes.

The smoke is calming him down. Making him see reason. Making him regret agreeing to this. But also making him realize that an aggressive approach won’t do him any good against this woman. She’s dangerous. He knows it. More importantly, so does she.

He really doesn’t want to lose that eye. It feels strange that he needs to justify it to himself, ‘only’ trading an eye with a witch. But the mere concept would surely give anyone the same repulsion it’s giving him?

‘Better not half-ass this, then.’ he imagines Virgilius tell him.

Where to begin, though?

Who had the opportunity here? The adults in the mansion likely stuck together the entire time after Battler left. Same goes for the people in the guesthouse – they left the room, sure, but they wouldn’t have been able to make it to the chapel and back. Battler himself didn’t do it.

Who does that leave? Kanon, the person who made the trip between the guesthouse and mansion. Natsuhi and/or Kinzo, who are still unaccounted for. Or one of the missing five people.

It’s a big pool. And he can’t cover all of them in just five attempts.

…Does he just lose immediately, then? If it’s one of the eight people he just listed, he’ll basically need to chance it to say the right name.

Somehow, he can imagine Virgilius saying something like: ‘What kind of an attitude is that?! Random guessing isn’t how a detective operates! You can have hunches, but when push comes to shove—’

Right, right. He gets the gist.

Even so, the witch is sure of her victory. The whole game could be rigged against him. How does he fight these edge-cases? For example, even if some kind of a more elaborate trick was used – someone in the guesthouse or mansion faking their alibi – if there’s more than one person that could’ve taken the exact same set of actions, does he lose if he gives the wrong name?

Ugh. He probably does.

Just five attempts! How is this doable?

“Struggling already?” The witch raises her brow. “I would’ve thought the first strike was obvious.”

“…I can’t understand your intentions, so I don’t know how I should adjust to the game itself.” he admits. “You clearly want me to lose. And there’s very little I can do in terms of how you play. So you could always act in bad faith and give me a red truth that might invalidate my theory, but give me nothing to work with in terms of eliminating possibilities or suspects.”

“Hmm. How about I show an act of goodwill here, then, given that I can sense where your troubles lie: **There is only one culprit. The culprit is defined as the human being who killed Ushiromiya Jessica. There is only one person who could have physically taken the actions the culprit took tonight in regards to Jessica’s murder.** In other words, I won’t nitpick – if you give me a theory where the culprit can easily be interchanged with someone else (because you simply lack the information necessary to discern who it might be specifically), you’re on the wrong track. How is that?”

“I… appreciate it.”

The witch merely smiles.

Eiji takes a drag of his cigarette.

What the hell? Just like that? For nothing? She’s effectively solved the problem – none of the seven missing people could have, then, pulled the murder off. Right? Not even Natsuhi, the main suspect in the entire story, is now on the table anymore. Then again, based on what he’d seen, her guilt has been shown to be more than questionable since the start.

By process of elimination alone, that should mean that Kanon is the obvious culprit.

…But it’s too obvious, isn’t it? Battler himself proposed an explanation with Kanon being the culprit. The witch must be aware of this. Why come up with the game, and be so confident, at that?

On the other hand, it could be a psychological trick. Precisely because it’s so obvious, with the limited number of attempts, Eiji would be incentivized to focus on other things.

Tough spot.

He decides it’s probably the correct first move, in the end. If nothing else, for the information he’ll gain from it.

Blue smoke fills the chapel. “The culprit is Kanon. He killed Jessica before he met up with Battler at the mansion. The gunshot and flash the two saw outside the chapel was faked. A firecracker or something.”

“Good! Good. Unfortunate that you couldn’t have come up with that on your own, but still. A fine first move.

“As you probably imagined, however, the wrong one. You yourself got a chance to witness the scene. Did you find any traces that some kind of timed contraption was used to imitate the gunshot?”

“It’s not impossible that I’ve missed it.” he points out. “The corpse was… the main attraction. Kanon could’ve taken advantage of the shock to hide the evidence in his pocket or something. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence and all that.”

“Hmph. Fair point. In that case: **The ‘gunshot’ Battler and Kanon witnessed was an actual gunshot, fired by a Winchester rifle. The shooter was, at that very moment, standing inside the chapel!** ”

As decisive as it gets, then. If there was someone physically in the chapel, then Kanon can’t possibly be the culprit.

Eiji bites at the cigarette a bit harder.

No. That doesn’t necessarily mean that. The person who fired the shot off in the chapel might not be the culprit. For example, Kanon might’ve gotten an accomplice to fire off the shot, specifically to make himself innocent in front of Battler.

“The culprit is still Kanon.” he asserts. “The person who fired off the shot is an accomplice.”

“And who would this accomplice have been?” Beatrice asks him. “ **None of the people in their respective groups could have left for any amount of time without them noticing. Had the absence of a member been noticed, it would’ve been told to Battler!** Furthermore, **no more than two people are allowed to assist with any of Kanon’s schemes!** ”

…Interesting.

Instead of flat-out denying the existence of accomplices in the murder, she instead argues that the people in groups couldn’t have been in on it. That would logically leave the people unaccounted for. But, given that Eiji’s arguing that Kanon specifically is the culprit – the only one to actually benefit from such a setup – he’s not allowed to use any of them as help. From what he’s managed to infer, Nanjo and Battler are already a part of some kind of scheme of his. That’s two. And both are accounted for.

‘There’s ways around everything.’ Virgilius would tell him at this stage. ‘The thing about logic is – and while this is a paradox, it’s true – the more specific you get, the more exploitable it becomes.”

It’s already been established that the people on the island can be tricked by fake bodies. Suppose something similar has happened here, too? Jessica, for instance, plans another fake death scenario with Kanon. It’s JESSICA’s plan, not Kanon’s. Jessica is the one who fires off the shot in the chapel. She then pretends to be dead. Kanon kills her when he returns to ‘clean up’.

“Ngh.” but he doesn’t like that explanation. Something odd is clearly happening with the people who were supposed to ‘die’ in the first twilight. It doesn’t make sense to fake your death a second time – nine hours after you were supposed to come clean.

What DID happen with them, anyway? Are they dead, too?

What if Jessica herself killed them? And then committed suicide in the chapel?

What happened to the Winchester, then? Did she have an accomplice of her own? Ah – but it’s a magic circle! Why would anyone agree to DO that?! Besides, the only people who could’ve helped her are the people unaccounted for. Isn’t that functionally the same as having one of them kill her?!

Is it?! Is Beatrice making that distinction?!

Stop thinking! Just throw it out there!

“Jessica killed herself. An accomplice made away with the shotgun after the fact.”

Beatrice looks amused. Then again, she’s been amused this entire time, hasn’t she? “Oh, Eiji. And you were doing so well! **Jessica’s death is not a suicide.** ”

‘Two more tries left, my dear Eiji.’ Virgilius would tell him.

Fucking Virgilius. Even at a time like this, he won’t shut up…! Why doesn’t he solve it, if he’s so smart?!

‘I’m just a voice in your head, buddy.’ the voice in his head reminds him. ‘As God-like as my thought process may be, your own brain can only hope to try and make a feeble imitation of it. And I don’t think that’ll be enough.’

He needs to rethink this. Back to the Kanon culprit theory. He needs an accomplice, but the only accomplices he can use are Battler and Nanjo. Both are accounted for.

…Except.

“Hang on…” Eiji murmurs.

What stops Battler from being the culprit? He could’ve excused himself from the conference, committed the murder, and gotten one of the missing people to fire of the shot; it’s not Kanon using Battler to establish an alibi for himself. It’s the other way around.

And since it’s Battler’s scheme, not Kanon’s, he could have as many accomplices as he needs to!

It’d be a dirty trick, but—

He pulls the cigarette out. “Okay—”

“It won’t work.” the witch tells him blankly.

“Huh?”

“That look your face. It’s the kind of look you make when you think you’ve got the entire world figured out inside and out. But you never do, Eiji. Whatever you’re about to suggest, regardless of the amount of confidence you put behind it, it won’t work out.”

“…Shouldn’t I be confident in my explanations?”

“Your brand of confidence pisses me off. That’s all.” Beatrice chuckles. “Please, though. Do go on. What is your SECOND TO LAST try?”

What was that? Why would she say that? What kind of face is he making?

No. He needs to forget it. She’s trying to distract him. There’s no reason to think he’s got it wrong. And if he has, the only way he’ll know for sure is if he puts it forward—!

“The culprit is Battler.” he raises his voice. “He left the conference at some point before I showed up and killed Jessica! Then, he got an accomplice to fire off the shot for him and used Kanon to give himself an alibi!”

“I object!” The witch shows her teeth. “Kanon testified he checked the chapel before meeting with Battler in the mansion! If the corpse had been there, he would’ve seen it!”

“I object to your objection! There’s nothing saying Jessica died in the chapel! Battler could’ve killed her elsewhere. The accomplice is the one who brought the body over to the chapel!”

This has to be it. Battler and one of the unaccounted people – Genji, most likely – had teamed up to turn the fake murders into real ones. Genji had likely taken care of the other four, with Jessica being an escapee. She met up with Battler, and got herself killed for the trouble. Genji later arranged for a scene where Battler looks innocent in Kanon’s eyes!

It makes sense! It—

“ **Jessica was killed in the chapel, at the very moment Kanon and Battler witnessed the gunshot. The gunshot that was witnessed is the cause of her death.** ” the witch declares.

Eiji blinks. “Wait, but—”

Gunshot was the cause of her death. Gunshot was real. Gunshot was made by a human being standing in the chapel. Culprit must be the person who fired the gunshot. The only people who could’ve fired the gunshot, however, are the missing people. But the missing people can’t be the culprit, because that makes the culprit’s identity completely interchangeable.

That means there’s nobody left.

“Last try, Eiji.” Beatrice laughs.

“But it’s… it’s impossible! There’s nobody left!”

The witch’s laugh slowly grows into a cackle. “Aah, now THAT takes me back! What’s the matter, Eiji? You’ve spent decades as a detective’s assistant, and you can’t work out this simple problem?! Even a Watson would’ve gotten a clue by now!”

“Shut up! Just—”

“You’re right, you’re right. You’ve never truly identified with the role of the assistant. Deep down, you’re still an actor. The world’s just cast you in a role you can’t seem to get out of! No actor is truly the character they portray deep down, are they? It’s the first thing people need to understand when it comes to media. The first reason to never meet your idols!

”You don’t need to worry about that, though, do you, Eiji? Who could possibly idolize you…? Who, I wonder, even remembers Shiratori Eiji? Who do you think would have shown up to your funeral? Your old acting buddies? The nice old ladies who showed up in the front seats of your shitty little performances?”

“Shut up! What the hell’s your problem all of a sudden?! I—”

“Oh, don’t mind me! I’m just thinking aloud. Wondering what kind of man you’ve grown up to be. And what she would think of you.”

“—Don’t. Don’t you fucking say her name.”

“Oh, Eiji, that’s what’s so great about you! You’re your own best audience! You kept telling yourself you’ve moved on. But she’s always in the back of your mind. Isn’t she…?”

“Shut up!”

“A man who truly moved on would’ve left Virgilius behind a long time ago, too. Or maybe you enjoy being treated like dirt. That’s how she treated you, right?”

He stomps the cigarette under his foot, throwing the whole pack to the side. “You know what? Screw you. Screw you and your entire game!”

“It’s so easy to upset you, isn’t it? Another thing that never changed about you. First sign of a blockade and you deem this mystery ‘impossible’. I bet you’ve already considered that this whole game might be bullshit. That there IS no answer. That I’ve given a wrong statement. Haven’t you, Eiji? Because that’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been. The ‘impossible’ is just another word for the world not working out the way you like it. When faced with it, it’s much easier to dismiss the problem and yell at someone until the whole situation goes away!

”But I’m not going away, Eiji. There’s no booze here to let you conveniently pass out.”

“Fuck you.” It’s all he can think to say.

“Theeeere you go.”

“Fuck you!” he turns on his heel. “Fuck you, fuck this place, fuck this game! I’m not playing! And you’re not getting my damn eye! I don’t care what you d—”

—Huh?

Why… isn’t he moving? He’s telling his body to move, but he feels… perfectly still.

Something’s pulling him by the hair.

_Thump._

Something’s fallen right in front of him. He can’t even properly crane his head down to see clearly.

It looks like a body, though. A man, judging by the build. Jeans. A sweater. Both familiar. Both his.

The body is missing his head, though.

“Oh, God.” he murmurs. Why can’t he move?

Why can’t he move…?!

“I warned you, Eiji.” The witch whispers in his ear. “I warned you again, and again, and again. And you never listen. Never. Now look what you’ve made me do.”

His body’s in front of him. Missing a head.

She’s cut his head off.

She’s cut his fucking head off!

He screams.

She sits back into one of the rows, cradling his head. “Now, now. Shh. I just had to punish you a little. That’s all. Just a way to make you understand. You’ve still got one more attempt left. So forget this ‘impossible’ nonsense for a second. Just face me, okay? I’m sure you can do it.

“You’ll fail. But as long as you don’t give up, that’s okay with me, Eiji.”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t do it. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s too late for that now.” she tells him. “Would you like another cigarette? They might not be as enjoyable, what without a head, but—”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so—”

“Yes, yes.” She strokes his hair. “I know. I know. Now. Onto your last theory?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. I just want to go home.”

“Come on. One last attempt.”

“Fuck!” the head screams. “I don’t know! You did it! You’re not ethereal like me! You’re an actual witch on the island and you’ve fucking killed her! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

The woman sighs. “For a last attempt, Eiji, it was a rather poor effort. I’ve already told you the culprit is a human being.”

“Aah! Please—!”

“I’m willing to forgive you for this. Would you like another attempt?”

“No! Please! I don’t know! I don’t know anything!”

Beatrice frowns. “No. No, clearly, you do not.” Her eyelids fall half-shut. “Well, then. Game over.”

She reaches for his left eye.

“No! NO! No, no, no, no! No, please, I’m sorry, I’m—!”

***

Eiji took a sip of his coffee. He’d known this girl for about two weeks by that point, and still he felt no less tense during those little meetups of theirs. He wondered what he should say. The play he was working on? Or her mystery novels? One always alienated the other, he felt. Neither of them seemed to mind, though.

‘…C’mon, man, you can probably a do a little better than that.’ his inner voice told him.

“You look beautiful today.” she always had, but he’d never actually said it.

She smiled. “Thank you, Eiji.” Not a trace of a blush on her face, though. Any other girl would have shown some embarrassment, him bringing it out of the blue like that. But not her.

She knew, after all. She knew she was one of a kind.

And she knew he knew that, as well.

“I must admit,” she stared into her cup of tea, “I was surprised. When you told me you were an actor, I’d imagined you working in a little rakugo theater off in some alley. But Shakespeare! You don’t see a whole lot of that these days. Especially students. The theater looks wonderful, too.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Oh! Th-Thanks!” Odd, though. Had he told her he was working on Shakespeare? And when had she seen the theater?

The confusion on his face must’ve been palpable. The girl giggled. “It was an accident, I swear. A friend of my father’s was holding a dinner party. Instead of going to the restaurant, I found myself stumbling into your theater by mistake. It was just in time for the rehearsal, too.” She sighed. “My father was disappointed that I never ended up showing up. But what can I say? It was a captivating performance, to say the least.”

“Th-Thank you very much!” he gave a light bow, likely drawing the eyes of others in the café.

As happy as he was, though, his nerves shot up more than ever before. The only restaurant near his theater was the crem de la crem; a five-star joint movie stars usually haunted. It’s why the theater was as successful as it was, in spite of mostly being led by amateurs – the prime location.

He had no reason to doubt she came from a well-off background. Even so, to have had it basically confirmed like that—!

“The man playing Banquo, though,” the girl mused, “chews the scenery a bit, if you ask me.”

“P-Please don’t say that.” Eiji chuckled. “Kiyoshi’s a good actor. He’s just having a bit of a tough time.”

“Why not replace him until the tough times pass, then?” she suggested. “After all, we can all be understanding, but why jeopardize the work of your peers? If you think he’s better than this, than he should play the part when he IS better than this.”

“I… I mean, I don’t know. I thought he was alright.”

“I think you would’ve done much better, Eiji. Particularly as Banquo. You look like the type of person just searching for his Macbeth. Loyal to the end, but ultimately treated like dirt by his master.”

“Thanks. I think?” He laughed. “Does that mean you’re going to treat me like dirt?”

“Depends. Do you pledge your loyalty to me?”

“Should I?”

“See. You’re a perfect Banquo.” she rested her head on her hand.

He laughed. “Well, uh. Either way,” he looked at his hands, “I’m nowhere near good for a bigger role. Just starting out, really.”

“What made you get into acting, anyway?”

“Oh. Uh. I don’t really know!”

Without warning, her expression grew cold and indifferent. “That’s no good, Eiji. If you have a passion, you have to understand the things driving that passion. Otherwise, you could end up deceiving yourself. What if you once saw a pretty actress in that theater and wanted to get close to her? You then told yourself ‘I always wanted to be an actor’ and justified it to yourself to join the troupe.”

“D-Definitely nothing like that! I promise!”

She touched his hand, her relaxed smile returning to her lips. “<Good.> But it was just an example, anyhow. My point is that it’s easy for people to trick themselves when it comes to their wants and passion. If you misunderstand yourself, you could get yourself stuck doing something you hate.”

“I see… But…” he cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I guess it’s just… interesting to be someone else on that stage?”

“Why? Do you think you’re not good enough, being yourself?”

He shook his head. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I think. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it like that, I guess. Being on-stage is just fun.”

“<Good.> ‘Fun’ is a good reason. Usually one that ends up having diminishing returns, but it’s sincere. That’s what matters.”

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s the thing that got you into mysteries?”

Her teacup stopped, inches away from her mouth. “A good mystery novel is an intellectual challenge between the writer and reader. Challenges need to be overcome. When you overcome a challenge, you feel fulfilled.”

He chuckled. “I can’t argue with that.” He looked to the ceiling. “I bet you’re the type who has the whole thing figured out the moment the murder happens, huh?”

“I have it figured out when the author’s given the clues necessary.” she said simply. “The earliest possible point. A lot of novels are kind enough to have a ‘challenge to the reader’, where they announce where that point is.”

“And you’ve gotten it right? Always?”

“If the mystery isn’t third-rate, yes.” She finally took a sip of her tea.

“Guess you and your brother are alike, huh?”

“My brother isn’t a mystery reader – he’s much closer to a stereotypical detective. He yearns for mysteries, but he hates mystery novels. I guess, given his aspirations, it makes sense to him that he’d ignore them. Mystery novels are convenient. The clues are always laid out. If you start thinking reality will be as kind, you might make a poor detective in the real world.”

“So, you’d never want to work on a real-life murder?”

She winked. “I never said that, did I? That’s how he sees it. But if you’re the type of person to have your whole way of thinking stained by fiction, you’re not worthy to be called a detective, anyway. Me, never working on a real-life murder? On the contrary, Eiji. It would be a interesting experience.” She closed her eyes. “However… real life cases are rather straightforward. As interesting of an experience as it might turn out to be be, I think it would get boring fast. That’s all there is to it. And that’s what I keep trying to explain to Virgilius. He just never happens to listen. Years down the line, when he’s complaining about it, I’ll be the one conveniently not listening.”

“I don’t know why he should complain. I kinda like crimes being nice and straightforward. The more complicated ones not getting solved usually isn’t for lack of trying. After all, if someone commits a perfect crime, you’ll never know a crime was ever made to begin with.”

“That is, unless,” she noted, “the perfect criminal is up against the perfect detective.”

He looked deep into her eyes. “And who might that perfect detective be?”

She gave a light bow of her own. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Perfect Criminal. My name is Furudo Erika. Your promised executioner.”

***

Eiji opens his eyes.

Where is he? What happened?

The last thing he remembers is… the woman with the shotgun. And the cat. And the window. And the fall.

The fall…

How did it land him to his usual booth back at Celeste?

He looks around. Mama’s at the bar, talking to a newcomer. One of the rare people who happens to wander in from time to time. He won’t be coming back. And Eiji’s never particularly minded that.

Nothing seems amiss.

The sun has already set. Even so, the snow is falling in heaps out there.

He checks his phone. 6PM. The year is 2011. The date—

“…What?” escapes his mouth.

It seems to have been a whole day since he jumped out the window.

 _If_ he’s even jumped out the window. His legs sure don’t feel broken. And going straight back to Mama’s a day after such an experience feels out of character.

He buries his head in his hands. It hurts, the head. His left eye feels scratchy, for some reason. He feels like crying. Why wouldn’t he? He’s either died or gone off to another world or gone crazy. Neither seems particularly appealing.

Just what the hell happened?

Erika’s face keeps showing up whenever he closes his eyes. Her voice lingers in his ear. A touch of a cold memory that just won’t go away. Even if the memory feels lost. Even if she is.

Why now? He’s moved past her.

He shivers. Frightened more than confused. There’s a lump in his throat. Probably vomit rising from his stomach. Sweat is covering his sweater. Breathing is getting heavier by the moment. He needs to get away. Before he passes out. Before the ground shatters below him.

His left eye keeps scratching.

He feels like he needs to cry.

“Sorry I’m late.” a familiar voice speaks behind him.

Eiji jumps from his seat.

Just like that, the sickness disappears. The ground calms itself. His blood cools. The fear is once again swallowed by confusion.

“…But. But how?” he can only stare at the man now standing by his booth.

“You’re driving back to the office.” the man tells him. “If I get stuck in one more traffic jam, I’m going to start setting cars on fire. I told you this car would be a horrible investment. If I’d walked by foot, I could’ve come here and back a hundred times by now.”

The voice. The face. The blue hair. The eyes. The glasses. The stupid leg warmers.

It’s him.

It’s his boss.

It’s his friend.

It’s his… whatever he is to him.

It’s Virgilius.

The man whose body he’d found in their office is now standing before him, alive and well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Act One! The rest of the four acts will be released as I finish them. I don't anticipate the entire project taking more than a few months.
> 
> I hope what you've read has intrigued you, and I'm looking forward to hearing your feedback and/or theories!
> 
> Huge thanks to selkie (@selkie_lynn on Twitter) for all of the art that will be shown off at all of the act beginnings!


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